


Acerbic Alchemy

by Tishina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Humor, Rogue tempest, Romance, Verbal Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 34,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3593559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tishina/pseuds/Tishina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courtship by friendly insult. A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men. Adan is one of my favorite NPCs in DAI, and I can  imagine a dwarven Tempest rogue (who essentially deals in alchemy) particularly enjoying verbally sparring with him. I use some bits of actual conversations to start and I expand from there; some future segments, especially at Skyhold, won't include ingame content. Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game.  Zheeva' is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Rating is mostly for profanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alchemy

A story for dwarf lovers and lovers of irascible older men.

Introductions, early Haven verbal sparring.

Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game.  Zheeva' is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity.>>>>>>>>>

* * *

  **Part 1**

* * *

 

“You can pay me back by fixin’ the world. Name’s Adan. I’m in charge of keeping our little band here stocked with potions and elixirs. Not that Seeker Pentaghast seems to care whether we’ve got the supplies to actually… _do_ that.”

Zheeva’ grinned up at him. “For a healer, you don’t seem particularly nurturing.”

“I’m not a healer, I’m an alchemist who’s forced to play mother hen. You want something to burst into flame on contact with the air. Done. Gladly. Patching up wounded soldiers is a waste of my time and talents... But there are few around who can help.”

“Alchemist, hmm?” The dwarf tilted her head to the side, a few strands of short hair so blonde it was almost white escaping from the scarf she had wrapped around her head. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she studied him. “A man who can set things on fire without magic sounds like a useful man to know for someone like me.” Adan scowled at her suspiciously as if suspecting a double meaning to her words, but she just smiled back innocently. “However, for the time being, taking care of the wounded is the priority. Now, you sound as if you’re short on supplies? Is there anything I can do to help out?”

* * *

**Part 2**

* * *

 

“You’re back, and in one piece.” Zheeva’ grinned at the cranky alchemist as she pulled out a roll of papers from a pouch.

“You said you thought Master Taigen was working on something special. If it helps, I found his notes.” He grabbed the sheets of paper, leafing through them, his eyes lighting up.

“Ha! The old codger was on the edge of a breakthrough here, but he couldn’t see it. You want some of these mixed up, you just give the word.”

“Codger?” Her green eyes laughed at him. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?” Adan just snorted.

“That’s right, see how far you get coaxing me into helping you make things burst into flame when you call me things like that. Besides, I’m an alchemist, not a…”

“Nursemaid. I know.” Zheeva’ could hear the barmaid who’d been about to leave the house lurking in the doorway, listening avidly. “Do I look like a nursemaid or someone who needs one?”

“No, you look like a bit of mischief keeping me from my work.” He retorted sourly. “Besides, I’ve already played nursemaid to you.”

“I know, you told me that before, and then you told me to fix the world to repay you.” One slender hand impatiently tucked strands of hair back into her scarf as she answered his scowl with a grin.

“And I can see you’re on top of that right now, lurking around my workshop and chattering at me.”

“All right, you win. This round.” Zheeva’ turned, catching sight of the maid as she ducked the rest of the way out the door. “Just let me replace a few potions here.”

“What, using them up already? They don’t make themselves, you know.” She returned his glare innocently as he stalked over to the supplies, handing her more.

“If I didn’t use them, you’d have to find something else to complain about. Besides, you don’t want to have to nursemaid me again, do you?”

He just snorted, arms crossed impatiently and nodded at the door. She bowed with a flourish and left, grinning, his scowl sliding away as he watched her leave with a puzzled expression. Then he shook himself and turned back to his workbench.

* * *

**Part 3**

* * *

 

“You’re back, and in one piece.” Zheeva’ wrinkled her nose at his usual greeting, her impish grin tired, her leather clothing and armor still covered in dust and mud from travelling.

“What, were you hoping I’d need to be nursemaided again? Or just that you’d be rid of me?” She turned to take sacks from Varric.

“Hmph, you know my opinion on nursemaiding. And I have to put up with you at least until you’ve fixed the world.” He scowled at her, ignoring Varric entirely.

“Thank you, Varric. Adan, you cranky codger, we came across some unusual herbs that I know you’re short on.”

His scowl deepened. “How do you know what I need? I didn’t tell you.”

“I snooped when you were busy, of course.” Their verbal sparring seemed to be restoring her energy, and her eyes glinted up at him challengingly as Varric listened in amusement.

“You…snooped in my storage cupboards?” He drew himself up, eyes alight with outrage. “Maker’s breath, woman, don’t you know how dangerous some of the things I have in there are?”

“I should, since I dabble in some of the same things.” She raised her chin, shoving the bags at him. “I didn’t _touch_ anything, and I was as careful as if I was handling holy relics. Andraste’s ass, Adan, do you really think I’m a fool?”

“No, you’re just a snoop and a busybody.” Grudgingly, he opened first one sack, then the other, examining the contents. “But you’re apparently a very lucky snoop since I really did need these. Crystal grace, I haven’t seen this growing in the Hinterlands before.” He eyed her accusingly, and she responded with a cheerful grin.

“Well it does. However apparently it attracts bears, which makes getting to it a bit exciting.” Varric groaned at the memory, but she ignored it, apparently intent on needling Adan. “I found our discussions with them invigorating myself, somehow they reminded me of talking to you, but there are… _requests_ that you go easy with that so we don’t have to go back. I’m assuming you don’t normally go out collecting herbs with a heavily armed party?”

Adan just snorted, then shook a finger at her. “That’s as may be, but next time, you ask. Stay out of my cupboards, woman, or I really will remind you of a bear.” He paused, looking at her more closely, as if seeing the signs of exhaustion and travel for the first time. “Maker’s breath, woman, I didn’t need these herbs that badly. Next time, get some food and rest and a bath first.”

“Nursemaiding me, Adan?” Her laughter had a challenging note, and he snorted.

“Not likely. I just won’t be able to smell my own potions for the next hour until I get the odor of sweat and horse out of my nose. Now get out of here and get that bath and food.”

Bowing with a flourish again, Zheeva’ winked at Varric as she led the way to the door, then Adan called after them testily, “And you, storyteller! Make sure she does, or they’ll make me nursemaid her again.” He glared as she stopped in the doorway to raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Get!” Her laughter drifted back through the door as he began carefully removing the herbs and storing them in the cupboards, grumbling.

 

* * *

 

**Afterword**

I personally find several of the NPCs much more attractive romance options than the ones officially available to a dwarven woman---note that I'll cheer on anyone who enjoys those options, I just personally find their appeal is to rather narrow groups that I don't fall into---so my solution is to write my own. Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of their relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate. To be continued as I have time.


	2. Beeswax and Brontos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Of beeswax and brontos. In Haven still, before the meeting in Val Royeaux arranged by Mother Giselle.  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheeva' is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Eventually romance.

**Part 4**

* * *

 

            “You’re back, and in one piece.” Zheeva’ raised an eyebrow quizzically as if she hadn’t heard the greeting a dozen times before.

            “What, how many pieces was I supposed to come back in?”

            He just snorted, then glared at the bag she carried suspiciously. “Have you been snooping in my cupboards again, woman?”

            “No, I have not, _man_.” Zheeva’ tossed the bag from hand to hand, light green eyes challenging him. “Or did you think I lied when I said I wouldn’t snoop again as long as you would tell me if you were running short on something? The Herald of Andraste, lying?”

            “Herald my arse, if the Maker picked you for something, it wasn’t for your sterling character.” Her grin broadened as she continued to toss the bag from hand to hand. “Did you bring me something, or are you just here to distract me from my work?”

            Her chin tilted up as she schooled her expression into innocence, meeting his scowl. “Maybe I just missed your flattery and charm. I’ve been out in the field for almost two weeks, you know.”

            “Maker’s breath, you really are a bit of mischief.” He gave her a baleful look, then turned back to his workbench. “How am I supposed to get all this work done with you interrupting me all the time for nothing?”

            “All the time? It’s been two weeks, you crotchety, senile ass.” Zheeva’ returned his scowl before tossing the bag at him. “Take that before I regret saving it for you instead of taking it with me to sell when I go to Val Royeaux.”

           “Senile!?” He caught the bag, grunting in surprise at the weight before he opened it and removed bundles carefully wrapped in waxed linen. He quickly unwrapped the largest two, then the padding protecting a small vial. “Ambergris? Pure beeswax? Antivan cinnamon oil?” He continued unwrapping the smaller bundles as he took them from the bag. “Andraste’s ass, woman, what rich merchant did you rob? I didn’t think you could get some of these things closer than Val Royeaux or Denerim!”

            She shrugged, a touch of regret twisting her lips. “We didn’t steal them. We had a run-in with some smugglers. Carta smugglers.” She eyed him warily as if bracing herself for a comment on her own past, but he just stared at her in amazement. “There were a lot of herbs too, but they were things you already have, so we left them with Mother Giselle’s people at the Crossroads.”

            He continued to stare for a moment before he began placing the items carefully on a cleared shelf. “I thought they mostly smuggled lyrium.” His voice was gruff, but she relaxed when the tone carried no note of accusation.

            “That’s what they smuggle _to_ the surface. They also smuggle rare luxury items back to Orzammar for the noble houses.” She rolled her eyes. “Smuggle, because the surface merchants have a stranglehold on official trade, and the nobles won’t admit they’re dealing with the Carta in order to go around the Guild and save money. There are casteless and _casteless_ , and dealing with the surface Merchants’ Guild doesn’t _stain_ the honor of a noble house the way the casteless of the Carta do.” Her voice was blandly matter-of-fact, without the note of humor it normally carried, but she didn’t meet his eyes as one hand rubbed the scar on her cheek absentmindedly.

            “Hmpf, I never understood all that stuff and don’t rightly care. I notice it don’t make a difference to that story-teller.” Adan stroked his beard thoughtfully, examining the large lump of beeswax thoughtfully, “You know, with some of this stuff, we can make salves which stretch most of the herbs farther.”

            Zheeva’ wrinkled her nose at him, the laughter back in her eyes, “And salves don’t have to be drunk; I swear you snuck bronto piss into that last batch you gave me.”

            “Ha! Just for that, if I had any, I’d be tempted.” He scowled at her, hand still stroking the beeswax.

            “C’mon, Adan, those morsels I saved for you would have sold for two years of the kind of money I used to make.” She rested her fists on her hips, scowling back at him in mock outrage. “Surely it isn’t too much to ask that your slops not strangle me when I drink them?”

            “Huh. If I make them taste good, you’ll use twice as many. If they taste bad, I can be sure you only use what you really need to.” His lips twitched, giving the lie to his scowl as her mock outrage turned to genuine shock.

            “Wait, you really _do_ make them taste that bad on purpose? You cantankerous, underhanded…nug-lover!”

            “It works, doesn’t it? I told you, I’m not a…”

            “Nursemaid, yes, you’ve mentioned that.” Zheeva’ cocked one hip, resting her weight on the other foot as she glared at him. “You ass.”

            “And you’re nothing but trouble. Now go on, you can’t have been back in Haven for long. Did you eat?” He narrowed his eyes, studying her more closely.

            “Yes, Mother. And I bathed first too, or couldn’t you tell? Want to check behind my ears?” He took a deep breath as if about to yell at her when she called him “mother,” then rested one hip on the table behind him.

            “It did occur to me that I couldn’t tell you were coming before you came through the door. No odor of horse sweat.”

            “Just for that, I won’t bathe next time.” She tucked a few stray strands of blond hair back into her head scarf. “I wouldn’t want to surprise you by not announcing my arrival.”

            “Minx.” He shook a finger at her laughter, then pointed at that door. “Now out and let me do my job. And get over to the tavern and have Flissa get you a drink. Then _sleep_. I know you haven’t been back more than an hour or two.”

            Giving him a sweeping bow, with a flourish of an imaginary hat, she stalked out the door, calling back over her shoulder. “Tsk, tsk, Adan, anyone listening to you would think you cared.”

            And she was gone before he could retort. “Minx.” And if anyone had peeked through the window at that moment, they might have thought his lips twisted into a smile for just a second.

 


	3. Chairs and Chantries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.
> 
> Of Chairs and Chantries and wardens
> 
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheeva' is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Eventual romance.

 Part 5

* * *

“You’re back, and in one piece.” Zheeva’ cocked her head to one side, arms crossed in front of her.

“I’m not really here. You’ve been sniffing your own potions too much; deep mushroom fumes will do that to you, you know.”

Adan ignored the tall dark haired man in armor hovering uncertainly in the doorway to scowl fiercely at her. “Only if you heat them in vinegar with three other herbs and a solvent made with raw lyrium dust. Where’d you learn your alchemy, out of a children’s book?”

“Here and there, and I bet I know a few tricks that you don’t.” She continued to grin back at his scowl, eyebrow arching at him. “So, you didn’t deny I’d be what you hallucinated if you did. I’m touched, you did miss me after all this time.”

“Ha!” He continued to ignore the armored man who was starting to frown. “More like a bad dream, you coming in here and interrupting my work all the time. How’s a man supposed to get any work done with a nuisance like you pestering him?”

Zheeva’ snorted, then levered herself up onto a bare table to sit, hands resting on her knees with a challenging smirk. “So, you want me to stay a while? Good to know.”

“I said no such thing! Maker’s breath, woman, what do you think you’re doing, and sitting on one of my work tables to boot?” He rested his fists on his hips, glaring stormily at her. “You damned well know what kinds of things get spilled while we’re working, do you want to burn your clothes, you fool? Or you?”

“Why thank you for remembering I know a little alchemy too, _man_.” She returned his glare. “I also know when anyone finishes working on a batch of anything, you make certain everything is cleaned thoroughly, and your main assistant now is that tranquil mage, Clemence, I brought back from Redcliffe and he never overlooks anything. Besides, I’m tired of getting a crick in my neck to talk to you! If you had a proper tall chair for a dwarf in here, I’d use it. Cranky bear.”

“Snoopy bit of trouble,” he grumbled, “Herald of Andraste, huh! If they heard how you talk to a respectable alchemist, they’d wonder if the Maker had a sense of humor.”

The man finally seemed to make up his mind to say something, eyebrows drawn together in rising anger. “Here now, show some respect!”

Both of them turned to stare at him, startled as if they’d forgotten his presence, Adan looking directly at him for the first time. Slowly Zheeva’ began to grin, then chuckle.

“It’s fine, Blackwall, that’s just Adan’s way of saying he missed me.”

“I did no such thing!” He growled at her, though the quizzical expression on Blackwall’s face suggested he hadn’t sounded entirely convincing even to him, and the dwarf cheerfully ignored his protest.

“Blackwall, meet our chief alchemist Adan. Adan, this is Warden-constable Blackwall. He’s here to represent the Grey Wardens, so if he requests any help, he has the support of the Inquisition. Help him or I’ll swap that bottle of Antivan brandy you’ve got hidden for that horse piss you substituted for the bronto’s in the last batch of potions you gave me, you nuglover.” Adan made a mildly rude gesture at her that she responded to in kind. “Blackwall, if Adan didn’t bitch at me, how would I know he cared?”

“Ha, got you fooled, then, don’t I?” Adan turned back to his bench uncomfortably. “Grey Warden? Not sure there’s much I can do to help one of your lot, but as long as it isn’t nursemaiding, just let me know.”

“Adan loves nursemaiding, don’t let him fool you.” Zheeva’ winked at Blackwall, who now just looked thoroughly puzzled, while Adan’s back was turned. The alchemist just snorted.

“I think I’ll just stand here for now where it’s safe.” Blackwall leaned back against the door post, arms crossed, puzzlement starting to give way to a wry amusement.

“I thought I was rid of your pestering, I didn’t even know you were here last time until you were gone again.” Adan concentrated on the bottles he was stoppering, his voice gruff. The dwarf adjusted the scarf wound around her head, tucking escaping wisps of short blonde hair back into it.

“Blame Leliana for that. And Blackwall, indirectly, though he didn’t know anything about it.” Zheeva’ winked at Blackwall again, who glanced at the alchemist’s back uneasily as if afraid her statement would bring Adan’s sharp tongue to bear on him next. “I walked in the door of the Haven Chantry from Val Royeaux with the news that we couldn’t hope for much help from the Chantry leaders and even less from the Templars, and as soon as I finished, she’d thrown me back in the saddle of a fresh horse headed right back out of Haven to investigate a report about a warden recruiting in the Hinterlands near the Crossroads. Didn’t she give you my message?”

“Maybe.” He kept his attention on the bench. “I can’t think who else would leave a message calling me a nuglover and referring to brontos. Just as well you didn’t ride past, then, and interrupt my work on the way out of Haven, then.”

“I hadn’t had a bath or a meal yet.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she grinned at his back. “If I’d ridden by, you’d have started nursemaiding me.” The alchemist spun, glowering as he shook a finger at her.

“I am _not_ a nursemaid. But no one else seems to have the sense to see you won’t take care of yourself.” Grinning, she hopped off the table, startling him by grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the door. “What do you think you’re doing, I've got work to do!?”

“Dammit, Adan, I know good and well you’ve got enough assistants, healers, and supplies now; that mage Clemence is a marvel of organization and you know it. You can take half an hour away from that bench to have a drink at Flissa’s with Blackwall and me.” She let go of his arm, fists on her hips, glaring up at him. “I had my bath and meal, Mother, now aren’t I supposed to have a drink before I fall over and sleep for a couple of days? And I know damn well you haven’t heard half the news about the Chantry. Besides, Flissa keeps a real chair tucked away for me to use. I won’t make your skin itch by sitting on a workbench, and I won’t get a crick in my neck.” She grabbed his unresisting arm and led him to the door, wrapping a strong hand around a stunned Blackwall’s arm along the way through the door and dragging them both with her. “You never know, maybe I’ll start a bar fight. That’ll keep things lively and give them something to talk about.”

“Minx.”

* * *

 

**Afterword**

I personally find several of the NPCs much more attractive romance options than the ones officially available to a dwarven woman---note that I'll cheer on anyone who enjoys those options, I just personally find their appeal is to rather narrow groups that I don't fall into---so my solution is to write my own. Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of their relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.

* * *

 


	4. Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Demons  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheeva' is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Eventual romance.

**Part 6**

* * *

“You’re back, and in one piece.” Zheevá winked at Leliana in response to his grumble.

“Are you sure? Did you check for missing pieces?”

“Don’t need to, you’d be announcing it to me if you had so you could ask if I wanted to nursemaid you again.” His glare turned uneasy as he recognized the spymaster. “Sorry, Sister Leliana, we don’t mean anything by it. Um, is there something you need from me?”

Leliana’s lips twitched, though it was difficult to tell whether she was amused at his verbal sparring with the dwarf or at his reaction to the sight of her. “No, I ran into the Herald, and we both just happened to be heading here, for the same reason, I think.” She paused to tilt her head to the side, watching a slow grin spread across Zheevá’s face, then added. “Or perhaps not.”

The dwarf adjusted the dark green head scarf wound around her head, tucking a few strands of blonde hair back into it as she grinned at a scowling Adan, then pointed toward a spot near the window. “Adan! A chair for me? Why you do care, aww, now I feel all…” she broke off and ducked as the alchemist tossed a wet sponge at her.

“I care that you don’t burn your arse trying to sit on one of my worktables what’s had acid spilled on it. Since you insist on interrupting my work, you bit of mischief.” He froze as if he’d forgotten Leliana’s presence, but a sidewise flick of Zheevá’s eyes showed her that the redhead had a hand over her mouth, trying to smother laughter.

Zheevá took the two steps up into the tall chair that was set out of the way, but where she’d be able to see anything Adan was working on clearly. “Adan, there _might_ be a particularly unsociable Templar living outside the front gates who hasn’t heard about how the two of us snipe at each other. Maybe. If you don’t think Leliana didn’t hear about it fifteen seconds after you called me a _snoop_ the first time, you’re the one living under a rock.” She settled in comfortably, one hand lingering on the padding on the seat, covered in a dark green fabric that was a shade between her eyes and her headscarf. Her hand unconsciously stroked the fabric as her eyes met his, just a hint of surprise and confusion showing for a second, then she smirked. “Much more comfortable than craning my neck to argue with you, you cranky rock-licker.”

“Hmph, and what’s the point of insulting me if I can’t understand the insult?” She leaned back in the chair, still smirking.

“You knew it was an insult.”

“You directed it at me, it had to be an insult.” Adan rested his fists on his hips as if it added intensity to his glare.

“But it’ll drive you crazy until you find out what it means.” A choked laugh from Leliana caused them to pause in their verbal battle.

“If I may interrupt for a moment, I’ll be out of your way so you two can enjoy your argument in peace.” Leliana finally lowered her hand, though her mouth still twitched as she struggled to recover her poise.

“We aren’t arguing.” Adan spoke firmly, glaring at the lounging dwarf.

“If Adan didn’t growl at me, I would think he didn’t care.”

“Who says I do?” He glared at her, but she just smirked and tapped a finger on the arm of the chair. “Sorry, Sister Leliana, was there something I can do for you?”

“Zheevá returned from Redcliffe with a small army of mages who are prepared to fight with the Inquisition, including several excellent healers. Mother Giselle is taking charge of them, and you shouldn’t be needed to do any more healing, though if your people could continue to keep them supplied with potions and elixirs, we would appreciate it. Hopefully we’ll be able to get you back to doing research for us soon.”

His relief was clear. “Good. I make a lousy healer.” He studiously ignored Cadash’s chuckle. “Hmm, I heard you needed either Templars or mages to make another try at closing the breach, does that mean you’ll be taking Cadash there again soon?”

“Yes, as soon as she’s rested from her trip, possibly tomorrow morning.” Leliana sobered, her eyes resting on the dwarf. “Try to get some rest soon, and remember, we don’t need what you told us discussed, at least not details. You did what had to be done, that’s what matters.” The redhead’s eyes rested on Adan briefly before she turned, face unreadable, and left quickly.

Adan opened his mouth as if to say something tart to Zheevá, but hesitated when he saw she was staring at the door Leliana had left through, face troubled. Instead he turned back to his bench, carefully pouring something blue from a large glass vessel into a funnel in the neck of a small vial in a rack of vials. “I take it something more happened than just talking the mages into joining us.” His words were more a statement than a question, but she bit her lip and studied her hands.

“Yes. I…can’t say much, but…Adan, I saw what will happen if I fail and…it’s bad.” Light green eyes reluctantly met his as he carefully removed the funnel from the filled vial and turned his head toward her as she raised a hand that was faintly throbbing with a green light. “I’m a nobody, just a casteless dwarf owned by the Carta.”

“You’re not a nobody. You’re a fighter, and a good one from what I hear. Maybe you fight with knives and don’t know the fancy styles that them Orlesian chevaliers use, but maybe that’s not what we need.” His words were gruff, but without their usual edge, and he quickly turned back to his table.

“That’s just it. No one has ever really depended on me before. Oh, sure, there have been times when I had to do my part to pull off something for the Carta, and someone might have been injured or killed if I didn’t. But those were people who knew what they were getting into, even if they weren’t in the Carta by choice. The idea that my life, my success, could affect all of Thedas…?”

“That bad?” He slid the funnel into the mouth of the next vial, but clearly listening closely as he poured.

“End of the world bad. Until I saw what would happen, I thought they’d been drinking something a bit too strong with all this talk about me being saved by Andraste herself, making me out to be chosen by the Maker or something. Not that I wasn’t ready to help close the breach since apparently I might be able to do it, but I never thought _I_ was really needed.” She gripped the arms of the chair, one thumb compulsively tracing the outline of a knothole in the grain.

“You’re Andrastrian, then?” He asked curiously as he finished filling a vial and moved the funnel carefully to the last vial in the rack.

“Yes. Is that so surprising?”

“I suppose not, though I thought dwarves had their own religion.”

“The stone and the ancestors.” Her hand went to the brand on her cheek. “Casteless are rejected by both. At least some members of the chantry accept us, and as far as I can tell, Andraste included dwarves in the Maker’s children. I may not like the chantry itself that much, but I listen to the Chant itself.”

“Good to know. In that case, though, why couldn’t the Maker have chosen you?”

“You’ve been sniffing the fumes from your potions again. Me?”

Adan was silent while he carefully finished filling the last vial, then removed the funnel gingerly to make certain it wasn’t still dripping before slipping the spout into the neck of the glass vessel. He paused to rinse his hands in a basin of water and dry them before turning to face her, face thoughtful as he leaned against the bench, studying her. “Why not you?”

“A Carta runner as some sort of second Andraste?” Her voice rose in incredulity, almost squeaking on the last syllable.

“I didn’t say that. Maybe he didn’t pick you because of your sterling character and wisdom and how perfectly you know the Chant of Light and all that. Maybe he saw we needed someone who was a fighter and knew how to make tough choices, the kind of person who’d spit in a demon’s eye.”

Her hands relaxed a little on arms of the chair, but she shook her head. “So, someone without the brains to know better than to piss off a demon. That’s a great qualification.”

“Someone who’d face a whole army of demons if she had to, you arse. I’ll bet my last bit of elfroot that you would, and you know it as well as I do. None of that makes you some sort of prophet, I think the Maker’s got more sense than putting that on a rowdy reprobate like you.”

“And here I was starting to think you didn’t care anymore.” She grinned impishly, tucking a few escaping wisps of blonde hair back into her head wrap in an unconscious gesture.

“I didn’t say I did.” He began stoppering the vials uncomfortably. “It might be kind of quiet around here without you.”

“We can’t have that, can we?”

“Who said quiet would be a bad thing?” He put the stopper into the last vial and put his equipment away before washing his hands again. “Now, get your arse out of that chair and let’s go get a drink from Flissa. Sister Leliana wants you to get some rest tonight, and if I don’t watch and make sure you do, you’ll stay up half the night singing along with that bard and drinking.”

“Yes Mother.” She jumped agilely off the chair and grabbed his arm before he could gesture at her. “You seem awfully concerned about my arse, you know, especially about me getting it burned.”

He let her lead him toward the door, but glared at her for calling him Mother. “Ha, with a mouth like that, more likely to get that arse swatted.”

“Promises, promises.”

 

* * *

 

**Afterword**

I personally find several of the NPCs much more attractive romance options than the ones officially available to a dwarven woman---note that I'll cheer on anyone who enjoys those options, I just personally find their appeal is to rather narrow groups that I don't fall into---so my solution is to write my own. Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of their relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	5. Elder One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.
> 
> Elder One
> 
> Note: I add and replace some lines from the game to fit their relationship better, but nothing that changes the events of the story.
> 
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheeva' is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Eventual romance.

 Part 7 

* * *

       Zheevá shifted silently as the last red-lyrium-laced Templar swung at Blackwall, then leapt into the flickering light from the burning buildings to drive both daggers home into his chest through the softer leather where his shoulder pauldrons joined the breast plate in the back. As he slid to the ground, she nodded to Blackwall who was panting slightly and sweating from the heat of the fires surrounding them as he swiveled to make certain that no more of the Elder One’s forces were close enough to be an immediate threat. Dorian had been knocked into a wall by one of the monstrous Templars who were so far gone as to no longer be recognizable as once human, and Cassandra was helping him to his feet.

“Flissa’s out of the tavern now, she’s headed for the Chantry. Andraste’s ass, how many of the Templars have been infected with this stuff?” Blackwall continued surveying the area, he and Cassandra flanking her as she began up the steps to the cottages where Adan’s workroom was. Cassandra looked as if she was about to ask something when they heard the sound of voices yelling, one of them quite familiar, and relief swept over Zheevá’s face as she sprinted forward.

She waved Dorian and Cassandra toward the side of the sledge that Minaeve was trapped under. “Help her, we’ll get Adan!” The dwarf sprinted around to Adan’s side, carefully laying her bloody daggers on the ground within quick reach. “Adan, you crazy rock-licker, what are you doing out here still? Everyone’s supposed to take shelter in the chantry.” She and Blackwall began lifting the sledge, and as soon as he was clear, they helped him up.

He coughed, trying to clear the smoke and fumes from his lungs, “Thought these would help… fight… Explodes…fire, get away…”

“Sod it! Cassandra, Dorian, get her and yourselves away from that sledge as fast as possible!” She pushed Adan toward the chantry and grabbed her knives. “Get to shelter, you cranky arse, and make sure Minaeve makes it safely.”

 “Just get your own arse in there as soon as you can, woman.” He didn’t pause even to look back, just grabbing Minaeve’s arm. “Maker watch over you all.”

* * *

 Part 8

* * *

  “ _If_ he shows us the path. But what of your escape?” The dwarf turned away silently, avoiding everyone’s eyes as she unconsciously tucked a few strands of blonde hair back into the soot-and-blood streaked green cloth wound around her head. Cullen’s voice became uncertain. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” Suddenly decisive, he strode away, calling out, “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the chantry! Move!”

“Herald… If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.” Zheevá nodded silently as Cole helped the badly wounded man away. Cullen came running back with several soldiers.

“They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. If we are to have a chance—if _you_ are to have a chance—let that thing hear you.”

The dwarf nodded as he turned away to begin haranguing the refugees to move quickly, watching him run back down the hall to catch Adan looking in her direction with a puzzled look from the far end. She forced a smile, then pointed toward the line of walking wounded and scowled at him, silently mouthing _arse_. He glared back in return before draping someone’s arm over his shoulders and joining the line.

 Once he had turned away, she looked at the rest of her team. “Blackwall, Cassandra, and Dorian are enough to risk with me at once; either we’ll get through or an army wouldn’t help. The rest of you, help with the evacuation and cover their escape. Once I have the Elder One’s attention, they and Cullen’s people will follow you and help. I have a better chance of getting away from him alone anyway, once I do fire the trebuchet.”

 Skepticism met her words, but they nodded silently, and she caught Varric’s eye. “Make sure no one tells that crotchety old bear where I’ve gone until you’re too far away for him to try to turn back. If someone does, hit him over the head and drag him with you if you have to.” He nodded silently as the others moved swiftly toward the line of refugees. “If he asks, tell him I said…” She hesitated, then shrugged, managing a cocky grin. “Tell him I said he was a cranky arse, but he has to stay put so I can find him. I have a few insults I haven’t tried on him yet.” Without waiting to see his response, she led her team out the door of the Chantry, never glancing back.

* * *

  **Afterword**

I personally find several of the NPCs much more attractive romance options than the ones officially available to a dwarven woman---note that I'll cheer on anyone who enjoys those options, I just personally find their appeal is to rather narrow groups that I don't fall into---so my solution is to write my own. Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of their relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	6. Flirt or Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirt or Fight  
> Note: The game suggests that the Herald wakes up long enough when first rescued after Haven to give them a little information on Corypheus. This takes place between that first awakening and the later one with the conversation with Mother Giselle in the tent.  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheeva' is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Eventual romance.

* * *

 

 Part 9 

* * *

 

Zheevá clawed her way back through of the cloud of unconsciousness, feeling the touch of a hand on her forehead. A fog of exhaustion and vague pains made it too much work to try to open her eyes yet, enjoying the sense of warmth from rocks wrapped in cloth and tucked around her under the blankets. _I don’t think I’m dead, or my feet wouldn’t still feel the cold._ The hand moved slightly, and she forced herself to focus on it as it stroked the hair back from her forehead gently. Broad palm, thick fingers. A light touch, but not a woman’s hand.

 That thought was almost enough to give her the energy to open her eyes, but her brain was beginning to defog a little, and she waited curiously. The man’s fingers rested on her forehead as if checking her for a fever, then surprised her as the tips of his fingers slowly ran down the line of her cheek, one finger tracing a faint knife scar, then the palm of his hand stroked her cheek very lightly. _Why you grumpy bronto! I’ll be damned if I’ll let you know I’m awake!_ Zheevá just barely managed to resist the urge to smile, then heard very soft, but distinct words in a comfortingly familiar and testy voice.

 “You little idiot, playing hero, and everyone ready to let you face that bastard alone.”

 His hand cupped her cheek lightly, and she found it surprisingly comforting. _So, I was right. He hides behind insults and humor too._ She knew that her fondness for the bad-tempered alchemist was a popular topic of baffled speculation, as was their peculiar version of flirtation, but Zheevá knew now that she’d been right about him. _Spend most of your life owned by the Carta and you learn all the ways to hide without looking like a victim._ Beyond that, the fog was too heavy for thought, and she just enjoyed the touch until she heard very light footsteps approaching. The warmth vanished from her cheek, and she felt hands briskly adjusting the blankets to make certain they were tucked in more snugly around her neck. She could feel a stool creak next to her as someone stood up, risking opening one eye a tiny slit.

 “Adan, I can sit with her for a few minutes, but Mother Giselle wants your help with Chancellor Roderick.” Zheevá could just make out the shape of Leliana’s hood against the firelight and Adan’s outline as he turned toward the entrance of the tent, snorting.

 “The man’s dying, I told her that, and I don’t have the equipment or the materials to make anything strong enough to stop it.” He grumbled but moved out the entrance. “The elixir I gave her should be wearing off; she may wake up, but don’t let that bit of trouble out of bed. She needs rest.” Zheevá opened both her eyes about halfway, watching his outline against the fire as he left with an open grin. A movement signaled Leliana sitting down on the stool next to her, an amused but questioning look on her face.

 “How long have you been awake?”

 “Oh, five or ten minutes. The first few minutes are pretty fuzzy, and I’m not sure if I was awake or asleep.” The dwarf opened her eyes all the way, taking in her surroundings but not inclined to move further.

 “I saw him saying something to you and his hand on your face; I actually waited a couple of minutes because I thought you might be talking. You didn’t let Adan know you were awake?”

 “And embarrass him?” She snickered weakly, dark eyes reflecting the flames from the firelight. “He’d have jumped back from me like I was burning his hand, Leliana.” She managed a weak shrug. “Not that I would have minded the way he would have scorched my hair for taking risks, but I was enjoying being fussed over.”

 Leliana poured water from a jug into a mug, and lifted Zheevá’s shoulders to help her drink. “You’re probably right about how he would have reacted.” She waited patiently for her to finish drinking then lowered her back down to the cot. “I know I’m being nosy, but …what is the attraction? He’s abrupt and even rude most of the time, and you two mostly seem to exchange insults.”

 “Friendly insults.” She managed to free a hand from the blankets, a little surprised at how heavy it felt, brushing her hair out of her eyes with a frown. “He’s the only person here who isn’t either awed by me as some sort of second coming of Andraste or figurehead or offended by me as a criminal. I’ll always know where I stand with him, and he’s quick-witted and capable. Friendly, and not-so-friendly insults are how people who survive the Carta mostly talk; I get very nervous when people are polite to me because it usually means someone’s got a knife at my back. His insults are never _really_ insulting, you’ll notice, and believe me, _casteless scum_ and _Carta thug_ are the politest things I usually hear. It’s just a different sort of mask from your Orlesian muckety-mucks.”

 Leliana picked up a brush and began to brush out her short blonde hair. “Hmm, put that way, it does make sense.” She finished quickly and efficiently, smiling to herself. “Your hair is such a lovely color, it’s a shame we almost never see it.”

 Zheevá shrugged again. “Wrapping it is more practical in a fight. Besides, I have my own share of vanity.” She used her free hand to lift the hair at one temple, revealing strands of silver hiding under the pale blonde. “Safer not to let anyone guess how old I am and assume I’m slowing down.”

 Heavy footsteps approached outside, and Adan ducked in, grumbling. “Huh. She’d be better off…” He stopped when he saw the dwarf’s eyes open, one eyebrow cocking at him quizzically. For just a second, something very like relief and something else peeped out, then he scowled, fists resting on his hips. “You! What in the Maker’s name did you think you were doing, having that storyteller threaten to knock me over the head while you ran off to throw yourself at some half-mad bastard and a dragon?”

 “Cole said that bastard wanted me, you arse, it wasn’t exactly like we had a huge pool of volunteers who’d keep his attention instead of just becoming an instant dragon snack. Cranky rock-licker!”

 Leliana quietly got up from the stool, grinning to herself as Adan moved forward to sit down and put a hand to her forehead. She slipped out the entrance as the alchemist retorted, “So you go throwing yourself at him on the word of someone you just met? And I am _not_ a bronto!”

 Leliana met Cassandra and Varric just outside the tent entrance, Cassandra’s face concerned as she stared toward the loud voices. “Leliana, is the Herald alright?”

 Zheevá’s voice, tart but self-satisfied voice emerged from the tent. “So, you asked Varric what it meant? Knew curiosity would get to you.”

 “Andraste’s ass, don’t try to change the subject!”

 Leliana and Varric’s eyes met in amusement. “I’d say some things, at least, are back to normal.”

* * *

 

  **Afterword**

I personally find several of the NPCs much more attractive romance options than the ones officially available to a dwarven woman---note that I'll cheer on anyone who enjoys those options, I just personally find their appeal is to rather narrow groups that I don't fall into---so my solution is to write my own. Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of their relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	7. Gibes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Gibes  
> This takes place just after Zheevá is made Inquisitor.  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Eventual romance.

* * *

**Part 10**

* * *

 

“There you are! I wondered where they stashed you, you crotchety rock licker.” Zheevá leaned against the door to the small work room, studying the furnishings intently as Adan glowered at her, leaning back against the table he had been working at. “Only two work tables, but you won’t have anyone else in here working on ordinary stuff for the healers either.”

“I told you, I’m not a bronto, woman.” He scowled more fiercely, but when she spotted the tall chair between a bookshelf and one of the benches and smirked at him, he spun back to the table and began sorting jars of ingredients onto the shelves that ran along the wall to his right.

“If the name fits, _man_ …” She climbed into the chair and settled herself with a sigh. “I didn’t call you a mud splasher, at least.”

“What’s a mud splasher?” He grumbled.

“Now why would I tell you that when you can have the fun of finding out on your own?” Zheevá wrinkled her nose at him when he glared over his shoulder briefly. When he turned back to the bench, she stroked a hand thoughtfully over cushions again covered in dark green in a shade she knew flattered her eyes and favorite head wrap, testing the silky texture with an expression that was both pleased and baffled. When she realized that he hadn’t retorted, she looked up abruptly to find him watching her from the side of his eyes while he worked, and her face reddened slightly. “I kept my promise, you arse, the breach is closed.”

He snorted, placing an empty basket above the shelves and started unpacking a second. “Thedas might have noticed, you arse. That would have been right before an ancient corrupted magister showed up on the Inquisition’s doorstep with an army and a dragon.”

“Oh, did they? I must have slept through that neighborly visit.” She grinned cheerfully.

“Maybe you slept-walked out the door of that chantry just like you were talking in your sleep when you gave that storyteller orders to drag me with them.” He turned enough to glare directly, but Zheevá was leaning forward, looking at the baskets on the other worktable. “So, what is it they’re calling you now, Inquisitor?”

She winced at the word. “Maker’s breath, if you start calling me that, Adan, I swear I’ll start using insults I mean. Sodding humans have gone mad, giving _me_ a title like that.”

Adan crossed to stand just in front of her, fists on his hips as he fixed her with a stern look. “And why not you?! Andraste’s tits, Cadash, if anyone else has done more to fix things than you have, name her?”

“Andraste’s the problem, you arse! Sod it, _they_ all want Andraste, and they’re trying to make me into her, and I’m not! I’m just a jumped up Carta thug.”

“That may have been what you were, but that isn’t who you are now, and I’m betting that isn’t _all_ you were then! How many Carta thugs would have taken advantage of their first trip outside Haven to hightail it back to the Carta? And what did you do?” For a moment, her cocky mask slipped away to reveal uncertainty and without thinking he unballed one hand to touch her cheek lightly with the tips of his fingers, his face softening unconsciously. They held like that for just a moment before both of them seemed to realize just how close he was standing, and he snatched his hand back, clearing his throat while Zheevá looked around uncomfortably. Her eyes lit on the baskets on the table closest to her again.

“What are these books? Oh, alchemical and herbal texts!”

“Don’t you go snooping, woman!” Adan scowled and moved away just slightly to a less intimate distance. Ignoring him, she stood up on the stool in front of the tall chair and dragged a basket closer.

“Hmm, _Genitivi’s Herbs of Thedas_ of course.” She began lifting books out carefully while Adan fumed at her with a grumble, arms crossed on his chest. “The usual. _Elixirs and Antidotes_. Ooo! _Garal’s Grenades_! Where did you find a copy of that?”

The dark alchemist stopped fuming to regard her in surprise. “You’ve seen a copy before?”

“My father brought one from Orzammar.” She shrugged, beginning to turn the pages carefully. “It was one of the books he taught me from before he sold it. Probably got cheated, the fool.”

“Your father was an alchemist?” Adan pulled one of the other baskets of books closer, slowly and carefully removing a stack of journals and papers.

“Quite a good one when he was sober, why else would the Carta grab me when he died?” Zheevá kept her eyes fixed on the book, but her shoulders tensed.

Adan was silent for a moment or two as he sorted papers and she turned pages, a finger lightly running along diagrams and text. “Do you have family in Orzammar?”

She shrugged again. “Anyone still in Orzammar would never admit to the relationship since I don’t exist to them. I _think_ my father was born smith caste, but my mother must have been casteless when I was born for me to have the brand.”

“And no one on the surface?” He folded a handful of papers inside a journal and put it carefully on a shelf.

“No one who claims me.” The dwarf flipped a page, seemingly casual. “My brother and sister married into respectable surface families after the Carta grabbed me and admitting they have a sister in the Carta wouldn’t win them any points….” She turned another page, leaning on the table to study the drawing more closely. “Hey, Adan, I thought I remembered this recipe. Have you tried this one?”

“No, I have not, and if you go trying recipes from that book, you snoop, you’ll singe your hair.” He leaned on the table next to her to study the diagram, their arms almost touching.

“Ha, it’d have to burn away my headwrap first, you arse. Why do you think I wear it?”

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

 

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	8. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Healing  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Slow romance.

* * *

  **Part 11**

* * *

“Sod it!” Zheevá winced as she came through the door into Adan’s workroom, pausing to shift uncomfortably, twisting her hips and back as if trying to ease away from something sharp.

 Adan paused, a straw inserted into a small vial of green liquid with his thumb over the end. “You disappear for almost two weeks and walk through my door cussing at me before you’ve even called me a bronto? That’s a nice way to greet a poor, honest alchemist.”

 “Honest, my arse.” She winced again. “And I wasn’t cussing at _you_ , you crotchety rock licker.”

 “That’s more like it. Hold on a moment…” He removed the straw carefully from the vial, thumb held tightly over the end, and inserted the straw into a flask containing about two inches of what appeared to be water, raising his thumb in a practiced gesture three times to allow a single drop each time to splash on the surface. The dark alchemist inserted the straw back into the vial and placed it carefully back into the rack. “If I stop before I finish this step, it’ll be ruined.”

 Zheevá stood watching silently, admiring his quick, sure movements as he raised the flask, mouth tilted toward the stone wall and away from both of them. He gently swirled the flask as the dark green droplets on the surface slowly dissolved, changing the liquid a pale green for a few seconds, then it began to bubble gently before abruptly turning a bright orange. Adan stopped swirling it to hold it up to cautiously view through a lamp. With a sigh, tension clearly flowed out of his shoulders as he set down the flask and corked it.

 “Nicely done! I should have looked to see what you were doing before I barged in; it’s hard to get exactly the right proportions for that deathroot compound.” Adan raised one eyebrow at her as Zheevá eased further into the room, trying to move normally as she crossed slowly to the other worktable, but for once, she didn’t immediately seat herself in the tall chair. He carefully washed his bench, putting the cloth into a pail, then walked past her to wash his hands carefully with soap, empting the basin and rinsing them a second time, surprisingly silent. She glanced around, curious to see what he had gotten done in setting up his work room, unconsciously shifting from one leg to another in discomfort, unaware that the alchemist was watching her intently as he dried his hands.

  Maker’s breath, woman, what did you do?” His sudden bellow caught her by surprise, making her jump, then wince, favoring one leg.

 “Andraste’s flaming knickers, Adan, what are you yelling at me about now?”

 He crossed the room in a couple of strides to tower over her, glaring, arms crossed on his chest. “You haven’t used the stool or the chair, you’re favoring one leg, you _never_ move that slowly, and if you aren’t in pain, I’ll kiss a genlock.”

 She grumbled, trying not to meet his eyes. “I’d pay to see that, you cranky old bear.”

 “Cadash!” He tapped his foot impatiently, and Zheevá reluctantly met his fierce glare, some of cocky stubbornness running out of her when she recognized genuine concern fueling the anger. She sighed, grumbling.

 “Well, you knew we were going to Crestwood, looking for that Warden friend of the Champion’s?” He nodded silently, clearly waiting for her to continue. “We found him, but he was just above a valley with…a little problem, one we didn’t think we could ignore.”

 “What kind of problem?” His voice was suspicious, and suddenly he hooked a stool with one foot and sat down so they were almost the same height. While the dwarven woman no longer had to crane her neck to see him, having him glare at her so directly wasn’t reassuring.

 “Um, a rather big one actually.” Uncomfortably, she tucked short strands of blonde hair back into her turban, avoiding his eyes until his hand suddenly closed around her wrist. “Alright, so there was…a high dragon.”

 “Maker’s breath, you idiot, you went after a high dragon?” She winced at the volume of his shout, but scowled back at him.

 “Maker’s balls, Adan, what was I supposed to do, clean up the demons and walking dead but leave the villagers with a Northern Hunter on their doorstep, snacking on their livestock? And a high dragon means young dragonlings!”

 His grip on her wrist loosened a little, but his expression was still fierce. “What happened to you?”

 “Blackwall had her attention, and I slipped in behind her to try to damage her leg.” Her green eyes sparkled a little at the memory. “It was beautiful, really did some nice damage to her, too, but, um, before I could get back out of range, she got me with her tail and knocked me a few feet through the air.”

 “Maker’s breath, you arse, how far!?”

 She shrugged. “Oh, fifteen or twenty feet. I didn’t break anything, and I got up and went right back in after her.”

 “Then why are you favoring one leg; why didn’t they treat it?”

 “It’s just a bruise, Mother, the healing draughts don’t help that much with those, especially…when you go to sleep before you realize you have one.” Her face flushed red in embarrassment.

 Adan sighed, letting go of her hand. “Maker, you’ve got the common sense of a nug sometimes. Show me this bruise.”

 Zheevá turned her head, avoiding his eyes. “No.”

 “Woman!” He bellowed, making her wince. “Show me this bruise so I can treat it with some salve.”

 “No!” She scowled at him, flushing even redder. “Sod it, Adan, do you really want me to drop my pants and show you my ass here and now? If you put your hands on my arse, I’d rather it was for some more pleasant reason than treating a huge, ugly black-and-green bruise.”

Adan just met her scowl with his own, then his own anger started to drain while the corner of his mouth twitched. Suddenly he got up, crossing to his shelves and removing a vial and a jar, then returned to sit on the stool.

 “Well, at least now I know why you wouldn’t use the chair. Here, drink half of this now.” He removed the stopper from the vial and handed it to her. “It’ll take care of the immediate pain. Save half of it to drink just before you go to bed tonight. I’m surprised you’ve slept at all if it’s that bad.”

 “Sleeping wasn’t nearly the problem that _riding_ was, not to mention the bad jokes from Varric at not being able to get comfortable in the saddle.” She sipped half the vial quickly, then regarded it in surprise. “No bronto piss to flavor it? Adan, you’re getting soft.”

 “Don’t tempt me, woman; right now I’m considering what I can use that tastes worse than bronto piss.” He set the jar on the worktable next to her. “Take a hot bath then rub this into the bruise. You should be able to sit comfortably by suppertime. Rub in more before bed, then again in the morning. Go easy on it tomorrow, then you should be past the worst of it.”

 Zheevá stoppered the vial, setting it next to the jar with a sigh. “Thanks. And believe me, that saddle got all the revenge you could want. Four sodding days of it.”

 “Which is why you’re still feeling that bruise so much, you arse.” Suddenly he took one of her hands, holding it palm up and tracing a finger lightly across her palm. “Sod it, Cadash, every time you ride out, I wonder if you’ll be back, and now you tell me you’re out there picking fights with dragons. You can’t insist on working your way under my skin, then…” He trailed off uncomfortably, his eyes on their hands.

 “Adan, I don’t take risks for some sort of thrill or because I don’t want to come back. I do it because it needs to be done, and I made myself that person when I let them put me in charge.” Her voice was unusually soft, and he responded by nodding, eyes still on her palm, her fingers twitching at the feel of his finger gently tracing the scar lines and callouses.

 “I know, I just wish…” He stopped, letting go of her hand reluctantly, and she raised her right hand to trace the thick scar that ran along most of the left side of his head, visible through the close-cropped hair. Her touch was light as she shifted her hand to trace the fainter scar near the corner of his eye.

 “You wish you could go with me? Adan, do you even know how to use a weapon?”

 “Yes.” Her hand tilted his head up to meet her doubtful gaze, and he shrugged. “A little.”

 “If you were in the field with me, _I_ would worry about how to keep you safe more than keeping my mind on what I was doing. You can do much more for the Inquisition here, and I promise I won’t take chances unless it’s important.” Her fingers stroked his beard for a moment, and his left hand came up to cover hers. She smiled in response, but her green eyes searched his dark ones as if trying to read something there. “For all you gripe about being turned into a nursemaid, I kind of like how you fuss over me, you know.”

 “Do you now? Is that why you’re working so hard at turning my hair grey?” His hand tightened over hers, then they heard a polite cough from the doorway. Zheevá sighed, her fingers curling into his beard for just a second, then she lowered her hand and turned to see an apologetic Leliana in the doorway. Adan pushed away from the stool and went to his bench to begin taking vials out of the rack to hold up and inspect, his back pointedly toward the door.

 “I’m sorry, the others want to have a meeting to discuss the Wardens and Adamant Fortress.”

 Zheevá nodded, taking the small jar and vial and carefully tucking them into her pouch. “Of course, but you and Josephine can deal with the nobles and the muckety-mucks without me tonight. I’m going to have a real supper and drinks at the tavern with Adan, maybe get Maryden to sing something scandalous and funny.”

 Leliana chuckled as Adan glared at Zheevá for assuming he’d agree, but then he shifted his scowl to her without commenting on the dwarf’s high-handedness. “You! Make that meeting quick. She needs to a soak in a hot tub and then some salve if you expect her to be able to do anything useful for the next three days.”

 The inquisitor rolled her green eyes at him. “Mother! I can manage on my own.”

 He snorted, raising an eyebrow at her. “Don’t test my patience, you arse; if you aren’t out of that meeting inside an hour or if you do anything when it’s done besides going straight to your room, I’ll find you and toss you in the tub myself!”

 The red headed bard hid a laugh as Zheevá raised an eyebrow back at him, with a sly grin. “Ooo, so if I drag this meeting out, you’re planning to undress me and bathe me? Is that supposed to be a deterrent or an incentive?”

 “Hmph! I’ll just toss you in with your clothes and armor still on. That way you won’t be able to wear your armor for days while the leather is retreated.” Giving her one last glare, he turned back to his bench and the compound he’d been working on when she’d arrived. Taking this as a signal that she wouldn’t get any more out of him, the dwarf winked at Leliana and led the way out the door.

 By the time they were out of earshot, Leliana had her laughter under control. “I truly am sorry to interrupt, particularly when it appears that my timing was bad.”

 Zheevá shrugged. “I think we were almost done for now. I interrupted some work he was doing, and if he doesn’t finish working on it in the next hour or two, that poison won’t be nearly as potent.”

 “I’m relieved, but I wish you’d had a few more minutes.” The spymaster slowed as they approached the hall that led to the war room. “It puzzles me. You are obviously quite fond of each other, as odd as your way of showing affection sometimes seems, but you…” Leliana hesitated, as if deciding if the question on her mind would give offence, but Zheevá snickered.

 “Since I will never make the mistake of underestimating you or your agents, not that it probably isn’t common gossip, I assume you’re wondering why he and I aren’t sharing a bed yet?” Leliana coughed, but nodded with a grin of her own. “I’m not really sure what this is between us, but I do know what it isn’t. It isn’t a quick tumble, or even sharing a bed a few times, which is about the only thing that’s safe to have in the carta. Neither of us is young and either shy about sex or overwhelmed by feelings; this feels…slow.”

 She seemed to think hard, as if trying to find words to explain something. “This is learning how close you can go and where to stop, how to be comfortable enough to sometimes stop hiding behind insults and jokes.” She unconsciously adjusted the turban-like green scarf. “Right now, both of us are still very conscious and uncomfortable when we get too close to each other. I think…whatever this is, anything more is going to wait for that.” Zheevá suddenly grinned. “I don’t have a lot of practice trusting anyone, but somehow I’d like to not feel like I _have_ to share my bed with both Adan and a couple of daggers.”

 They had paused in the hallway outside the war room, and Leliana chuckled. “And of course you’ve never had any daggers in arm’s reach while you had someone in your bed.”

 The dwarven woman guffawed, reaching up to slap Leliana lightly on the shoulder. “I bet myself you’d unearthed that story. I was eighteen at the time, thank you, and it was a damn good thing I did and that he thought just because my clothes were off, I was unarmed; I’m glad it wasn’t my own bed I got blood on.” She sobered slightly. “I admit, just because that’s the only time I had to use them doesn’t mean I haven’t always have them in reach. But that’s not what I want with Adan.” Zheevá reached for the door, but paused before opening it completely. “Though if he and I are ever behind locked doors, you’d better make certain the emergency involves Corypheus or an archdemon inside the walls if anyone wants to disturb us.” She gave Leliana a glare to match any that Adan had exhibited, and Leliana followed her through the door, hand concealing her laughter.

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	9. Ire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ire and Ice  
> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Eventual romance.

* * *

**Part 12**

* * *

 

Zheevá silently paused in the doorway of Adan’s workshop, assuring herself that he not caught up in the middle of something delicate. When she saw that he was apparently doing nothing more than taking jars and bottles from the shelf and making notes for requisitions, she cleared her throat. “Playing paper-pusher, you cranky arse?”

 Adan just grunted, not turning to look at her and visibly tensing at the sound of her voice. “Trying to get some work done. Do you need something, Inquisitor?”

 The dwarf raised one eyebrow, studying the way he hunched over the bench for a moment before crossing to stand by the other worktable. “Inquisitor? Since when do you call me Inquisitor, Adan?”

 He shrugged, still overtly focused on the contents of his jars and bottles. “Isn’t that who you are?” From this angle, she could see his face, jaw tensely set in genuine anger rather than the mock outrage that was part of their normal sparring.

 She folded her arms, glaring at the stiff profile. “Sod it, Adan, what’s got your knickers in a twist? Did I do something in my sleep that I don’t know about?”

 He paused, then shrugged again, visibly stopping himself from meeting her eyes. “I’m not the one to ask what you’re doing in your sleep, Inquisitor.”

 “Andraste’s arse, Adan, what are you suggesting?” Zheevá scowled, just as angry now. “Who in the Void do you think is sharing my bed?”

 Adan turned his back toward her, taking a book from the shelf beside the worktable. “I wouldn’t know, unless it’s the person you were seen stumbling drunk out of the tavern with last night.”

 “Maker’s balls, Adan! Have you got it into your head that I’ve spent months getting to know you just to jump into bed with someone else at the first chance?” Her green eyes glittered dangerously. “And with Bull, of all people; have you been sniffing deep mushrooms all day to start believing that sort of rumor?”

 Adan kept his back turn, stiff and rigid. “Dunno what I’m supposed to think, seeing you stumbling around, giggling with him last night in the dark.”

 “Sod it, Adan, look at me!” Her fists now rested on her hips as he slowly turned, his glare as icy as hers was fiery. “You great arse, I _am_ the Inquisitor, and that means being there sometimes for the people who watch my back in the field. I don’t know nugshit about the Qunari, and when Bull asked me to have a drink with him, it clearly was important to him and I wasn’t going to insult him by refusing. Yes, I got a bit tipsy, but to jump in bed with him like you mean nothing? Either you trust me or you don’t. And apparently you don’t. Ah, sod it all!” Throwing up her hands in disgust, she turned and sped out the door before he could even react.

* * *

 

**Part 13**

* * *

“So, want to talk about it?” Dorian pushed a mug of cider across the table toward Zheevá, taking the seat opposite from her tall chair without waiting for an invitation and taking a deep drink from his own tankard. Sutherland and his crew were out in the field, but until now no one had intruded on the dwarf who had claimed their corner for the evening. Of course, her stormy expression probably had something to do with that. Or possibly with the fact she was meticulously sharpening one of her long daggers in even, deliberate strokes on a whetstone secured to the table. More likely the combination, Dorian thought wryly, aware that if he didn’t know her quite well by now, he’d never have risked disturbing someone so visibly angry and dangerous.

 “About what?” Zheevá’s words were clipped, but her hands moved steadily, as if her entire being was focused on the act of maintaining her blades.

 “Oh, the fact you’re here, alone, looking like you want to use those blades on someone specific. Maybe the rumor that a certain alchemist hasn’t left his workshop since last night, and apparently, a guard who went to deliver a message early this morning swears that a rage demon is in possession of the workshop.”

 She paused and shrugged, eyes still fixed on the blade. “Not my problem.”

 “My dear Cadash, if there is anyone who has been around Skyhold for more than a few days who don’t know how you two feel about each other, despite your odd ways of showing it, I don’t know who they could be. Even the Seeker has taken notice, even if she’d never admit it to you, and she’s one of the most single-minded people I’ve ever known.” He dropped his normal tone of detached amusement. “What happened?”

 Zheevá sighed, putting down the dagger. “Dorian…” She hesitated, wiping her fingers on the soft linen cloth by her elbow, taking a long draw from the mug of cider he’d brought her. “All my life I’ve known I was the dirt under people’s feet, owned by the Carta and just casteless before that. You know, the kind of person that your kind of people skirt around in the street and then check to make sure you still have your money or jewelry once I’m gone. No one trusts you, and mostly they’re right, but what choice were we left?” She drank down about half of the cider and set down the mug again, staring at it instead of meeting Dorian’s eyes. “I thought _Adan_ trusted me though.”

 “You might be surprised at the kind of people I associated with, but I understand your point. You think he doesn’t trust you?”

 “I know he doesn’t. Dunno why I thought it would be any different just because he did a couple of nice things without expecting something in return.” The dwarf shrugged, pushing the mug away to pick up the dagger, gently cleaning it with a piece of leather, no longer radiating anger, but with a closed-off expression that he knew too well was protective. “I guess they’re right, there’s no leaving the Carta behind.”

 Dorian watched her work in silence for a few moments before speaking quietly. “I don’t believe that any more than you believe that being Tevinter automatically means I’ll do blood magic at the first opportunity.”

 To his surprise, she managed a weak grin, finally meeting his eyes. “And get blood on your sexy clothes? Never!”

 “Obviously, any more than you’d do anything that would spoil the illusion these Southerners have that you’re some sort of divine prophet of the Maker.” He began to add more when a movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to look around to see Adan at the top of the stairs looking uncomfortably toward them. Behind him, the Charger’s lieutenant, Cremesius, gave him a shove.

 “Go on, you idiot.” Krem crossed his arms, giving Dorian a stern look. Dorian hastily shoved back the chair, grabbing his tankard and raising an eyebrow at Zheevá.

 “Speaking of blood, do keep in mind that the Inquisition needs him.” Cheerfully, he passed the alchemist, smiling winningly at the wary young man. “Cremesius, isn’t it? So, are half the stories Bull tells about the Chargers’ true?” He led Krem around the corner, but their voices could be heard faintly from the vicinity of the stairs, as if they were blocking anyone from approaching that corner.

 Adan shifted his feet uncomfortably as she picked up another dagger and began honing it on the whetstone in long, deliberate strokes. “I came looking for you to apologize, and that Cremesius dragged me up here.” He eyed the dagger cautiously, “But I’ll do it from over here if you’re planning to test that thing on me.”

 She slowly ran the blade forward from tip to the crossguard, shrugging. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

 Adan snorted and closed the distance to her side of the table. “Of course I would. Not that I’d blame you for wanting to test it on me right now.”

 Zheevá’s lips twisted slightly into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’ve never used a blade on anyone who left me a better choice.” She lifted the dagger to start another stroke from the tip.

 The alchemist shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat several times before finally speaking. “I’m every bit the idiot Krem called me, Cadash. I’m…not very good at trusting people, and I still don’t understand what you see in me, so when I heard you with that qunari last night… And, well, he has…a reputation. All I could think was that I’d misunderstood what you wanted and waited so long you’d gotten tired of me.”

 The dwarf finished the stroke and carefully set down the dagger before turning in her chair to meet his gaze finally. “Have I ever been less than honest with you, even when I snooped in your stores? Have I said that you haven’t been exactly what I want right now?”

 “No. But I still don’t know why you’re interested in a cranky old codger like me. Most women…”

 “I’m not most women, in case you haven’t noticed.” She raised an eyebrow at him challengingly as she interrupted.

 “That thought might have occurred to me.” He picked up her left hand hesitantly, as if expecting resistance, but when she let him, he turned her hand palm up and traced the anchor gently. “Cadash, I’m sorry, I…reacted rather than thinking.”

 “Arse.” She gently tugged her hand free to grab his beard and pull his face closer to hers. “It’s not as if I have much practice trusting people either, but I thought _you_ trusted me. I can’t swear I’d never make a mistake, I don’t have a lot of practice at this, but I’d sodding confess it before you found out some other way, whatever the consequences. I’ll never lie to you.”

 “And I don’t have practice believing a woman might want more than an hour or two of fun with me.” His face hovered within a few inches of hers, his hand touching her cheek gently. “Especially not one who can trade insults and mix poisons as well as I can.”

 “Insults and poisons?” She grinned up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Is that what you look for in a woman?”

 “Arse. But yes, at least when they go with a woman who moves the way you do.” He stroked her cheek, fingers resting briefly near the corner of her eye. “And beautiful green eyes, at least when you aren’t full of mischief.”

 She tugged his beard, drawing him a closer, feeling his warm breath on her face. “In that case, why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

 His eyes shifted to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Because you haven’t asked me yet.”

 “Rock licker, how much more of an invitation do you need?” His lips brushed hers lightly, his hand sliding around to softly cradle the back of her head, then the kiss deepened into a long, gentle exploration that ended in a sigh as he drew away a couple of inches. Her eyes slowly opened to sparkle impishly at him.

 “Adan, you arse, you’ve been holding out on me.” The alchemist raised one dark eyebrow curiously. “If I’d known you kissed like that, I’d have grabbed you by the beard months ago.”

 He chuckled, his breath warm on her lips. “Is that so? Speaking of beards, why the Maker are you still holding onto mine?”

 “That’s what they’re for; any dwarven woman will tell you that the best way to make sure you have a man’s attention is to keep a firm grip on his…beard.” Cadash’s slight pause and innuendo extracted a chuckle as he leaned back in, his lips almost touching hers as he spoke.

 “Is that what you like, the beard?”

 “Of course. I knew you were a good alchemist the second I met you because you obviously hadn’t singed your beard in years to have such a nice one.” She suddenly shifted forward just enough to grab his lower lip between her teeth, nibbling it gently while her right hand joined the other in his beard, playing with it. He laughed softly as she let go of his lip, eyes alight.

 “I always knew you’d be a biter.” He surprised her by kissing the tip of her nose. “That head scarf of yours is attractive, but sodding awkward.” Adan stroked the scarf softly. “I like the hair you have hidden under there.”

 Her eyes gleamed impishly. “Adan, I only leave that head scarf off if I’m sure I won’t be fighting anyone. If I do, the door better be locked and you’d better not have any plans for several hours.”

His lips brushed hers lightly again. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His hand cupped her cheek as he became more serious again. “Zheevá, I am sorry. I’ll try harder to trust.”

 “And I’ll try to make sure you aren’t surprised like that again, if I can help it. I didn’t mean to get tipsy last night, but that shit Bull drinks waylaid me. Maker’s breath, Adan, if nothing else, you do know what kind of games Bull gets up to with his bedmates?” She rolled her eyes at him, fingers combing his beard softly. “Who shares my bed and how is almost the only thing I’ve been able to decide for most of my life. Why would I want to give up control of the one thing that’s been mine in the name of some sort of game, however pleasant other people find it? That sort of game is for people who’ve had choices.”

He nodded, then his eyes got a wicked gleam. “Like to be on top, do you?”

 She chuckled, nibbling his lip again. “Maybe. You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

 Adan suddenly leaned in and kissed her briefly but with much more intensity than the first soft kiss had been. “Maybe I will, you minx. But not tonight, I think.”

 Zheevá sighed, fingers gliding through his beard then letting go. “Yes, we’re leaving for the Exalted Plains in the morning and being rousted before dawn isn’t my idea of romantic.” She turned her head suddenly to catch Dorian and Krem peeking around the stairs, grinning. “Better get those noses back around the corner, gentlemen, if you don’t want me to give you a reason to blush.”

 Dorian just grinned wider. “My dear, you’d be surprised at how much it takes to make me blush.” Krem, however, pulled him back from the corner, laughing.

 “I didn’t ask, but how did Krem get involved in this?”

 Adan brushed her lips with one last, light kiss before straightening. “He grabbed me when I walked in and dragged me up here with a threat to kick my arse if I didn’t settle things with you and informed me that Bull spent the night with _two_ women, neither of them you. I didn’t ask how he knew why we fought.”

 Zheevá sighed. “Sod it, I swear I can’t sneeze without Bull and Leliana hearing about it before I’ve uncovered my nose.” She patted his hand, then jumped out of the chair, collecting her daggers and the sharpening kit. “Come have a drink with me then walk me to my room.”

 The alchemist grumbled. “What, am I tucking you into bed now? I told you, I’m not…”

 “A nursemaid, I know.” She grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the stairs downstairs. “I had a bath in mind myself. You could scrub my back, do my hair for me...”

 “If I did that, I can promise you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, and I’d never hear the end of you it when you fell out of your saddle tomorrow.”

 “No sleep? Mmm, a man after my heart, you rock licker.”

 “I am _not_ a bronto!”

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	10. To Dream of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A followup from Ire and Ice, masks slip a little more.  
> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Romance.

 

* * *

**Part 14**

* * *

 

            Zheevá bounced through the door of Adan’s workshop, a huge, smug grin on her face and a flat bundle wrapped in layers of cloth and thin leather cradled in her arms. “Hey, rock licker, I’m back! And just wait until you see what we found!” Without waiting for an answer, she hopped onto the stool at the other bench, very gingerly setting down the bundle and cutting the cords tying it shut.

            Adan carefully finished stoppering the bottle he held and racked it before washing his hands thoroughly and turning toward the dwarf who was busy slowly folding back the coverings on the bundle. “That’s how you say hello, you bit of mischief, after being gone for two and a half weeks?”

            “Sixteen and a half days, but who’s counting?”

            He crossed to stand next to her stool at the other work table, his arms crossed as he scowled at the yellow brittle papers she was gingerly spreading out, each resting protectively on a piece of cloth or leather. “Minx, what did you drag in now, some noble’s pressed flower collection? That looks too old to be that dowager rag some of those Orlesian fops pass around.”

            Zheevá chortled. “Shows what you know, gossiping about some of the books from that rag with a couple of those muckety-mucks got us a sweet trade deal.” She put the last piece of paper in place, then grabbed his arm to pull him closer, one hand tangling in his beard as she gently tugged him into reach to plant a brief if firm kiss on his mock scowl. “A down payment for later, you cranky bear. Now, just look and tell me whether I found what I think I did!”

            Raising one eyebrow in response to her barely suppressed, possibly explosive enthusiasm, he glanced at the first of the sheets curiously, then swore, bending closer to examine it better. “Andraste’s sodding arse, woman, where did you say you found this?”

            “An old fort on the Exalted Plains. We found all sorts of stuff in an underground room…after we cleared out all the undead and other pleasant sorts who were occupying it.” Her grin grew broader and smugger than before at his reaction. “So, do you think it’s the real thing?”

            “Maybe. It might be just a fancy recipe for pickled eggs.”

            The dwarf snorted, arms crossed. “You might have a point if I had found it on the Ferelden side of the border. You Fereldans and your pickled eggs.”

            “Pickled eggs are good for what ails you, you Marchers just don’t know how to appreciate them.” He returned her insult almost absent-mindedly, intent on the page in front of him. “It’s a translation obviously, but if I can make this out correctly, she claimed to have translated it from an original.”

            “You’re sure it’s a translation?”

            “I don’t know about you, but my ancient Tevinter is a little rusty, you arse. The original was supposed to be written in Tevinter or Tevene or whatever they called the language.” He still sounded a bit absent minded. “She throws in odd words here and there, I recognize some of them, old Tevinter alchemical terms that are still used in the older books. But there are also a few words that don’t look Tevinter. Elvish, maybe?”

            “Elvhen, I think it’s called.” The dwarf suddenly straightened from next to him, inhaling deeply and searching the room with a deep frown. “So that could really be a translation of Somniardirth?”

            “Maybe.” Adan moved to the second sheet, so intent on trying to decipher the tiny script that he didn’t notice Zheevá getting down from the stool and crossing to the crate next to the other bench.

            “Maker’s balls, Adan, I thought I smelled raw lyrium? What are you doing with _this_ in here?”

            He straightened, scowling, but then paused before barking out a retort. “You can smell it?”

            “In my sleep with a clove of garlic waving under my nose. Sod it, Adan, why in Andraste’s name do you have _raw_ lyrium in your workshop?” She glared at him fiercely, fists on her hips and obviously furious. “Don’t you know how dangerous that is to humans? Sod it, it’s dangerous to me, and I’m a dwarf.”

            “Some of our people came across a group of Carta smugglers, and they brought it to me to see if I knew how to process it for the mages and Templars.” The normally crotchety alchemist regarded her in surprise. “I was going to ask Dagna if she could tell me.”

            “No!” He crossed his arms, glaring, as she began to take equipment from his shelves and arrange it on the work table, adding fuel to the charcoal burner and adjusting a pan over it.

            “What do you mean, no? I’m an alchemist, sod it, it’s my job to handle things like this.”

            “No. Adan, if you fool with this,… Maker’s breath, you do know if you inhale the dust or it comes in contact with your skin, it can drive you mad or kill you.” Her voice was softer now, and she pulled a piece of cloth out of a pouch, wrapping and tying it so it covered both her nose and mouth. “Or addict you. It’s not _safe_ even for me, and I’m a dwarf.”

            Adan leaned against the table, one hand cupping his chin through his beard as he watched her with narrow eyes. “In that case, what do you think you’re doing risking yourself? The Inquisition needs you much more than it does me.”

            She snorted, using another piece of cloth to begin lifting out chunks of the raw blue mineral, placing them in the pan over the burner. “Arse, why do you think the Carta wanted me? They can’t always bribe dwarves in Orzammar into parting with the processed lyrium, and the smith’s caste in Orzammar holds onto the secrets of high quality processed lyrium tighter than a mabari does a bone.”

            “So how do you know?” Recognizing arguing with her as a helpless cause, he turned back to study the sheets of paper.

            “My father. That’s why I think he was smith caste before he was exiled, though I can’t imagine why they assumed he wouldn’t tell anyone on the surface. Maybe they just thought his brain was too pickled to remember how. He used to make a little money processing it for the Carta, always had me help him and taught me how to do it safely.” She shrugged, using a stick to gingerly move the pieces of raw lyrium around the pan.

            “How’d the Carta know that you could process it?” Adan pretended to be intent, but his attention was clearly more on the woman cautiously working with his equipment as familiarly as if it had been made for her.

            She shrugged, then began measuring and mixing chemicals into a bowl. “He didn’t teach my brother or sister. As far as I can tell, he used the fact I could process it as collateral when he borrowed money from the Carta, probably why he taught me so much more alchemy than them all along. I was an asset to barter.”

            Adan was silent for a few moments while he digested the matter-of-fact way she talked about her father’s mercenary attitude toward her. “Did your brother and sister know he told them?”

            “Dunno. Maybe. They’re older than I am, and he bought their way into a merchant guild family just before he died. Might even have used that money he borrowed to do it. Well, what he didn’t drink away.” She shrugged, continuing to work.

            “Have they ever tried to find you?”

            She snorted, gingerly mixing the contents of the bowl, then used a pair of tongs to add one of the heated chunks of the mineral to a mortar and began to grind it cautiously. “Them? Not likely.” Zheevá was silent for a few moments before adding neutrally, “I did try to look them up once. Found out that as far as their new families were concerned, they were my father’s only children, and my presence…wasn’t welcome.” She kept working, eyes intent on the ore in front of her as it powdered surprisingly easily. “Didn’t matter, I’d already realized that being _in_ the Carta was probably about as safe as I was going to be.”

            “Why do you say you were safe in the Carta?”

            “If I’d left, what do you think would have happened to me when Orzammar got word that there was a surface dwarf who knew their secrets? Or the Chantry or the Tevinters? I was at least smart enough to make certain the Carta didn’t learn how I did what I did, so I was valuable to them.” Adan watched her out of the side of his eyes, but she remained intent on the ore, tilting the mortar to gently pour the sand-like contents into the bowl.

            “Good point. Still, you don’t seem like someone who’d enjoy being part of that.”

            “I didn’t, but after the first couple of years, at least it was better than starving or being tortured or murdered.” She laughed, briefly and without much humor as she stirred the heated raw lyrium into the chemicals before putting another chunk from the brazier into the mortar. “The better Carta leaders reward good work even if there’s no easy way back out. I must have been inside half the better brothels in the Free Marches at one time or another.”

            Adan turned his head more overtly now, raising an eyebrow. “Were you now?”

            Though he couldn’t see her mouth, her eyes were clearly laughing at him. “Are you worried about what I might have learned there, salroka?”

            He eyed her suspiciously. “Another insult to ask that storyteller about?”

            “Of course, though that one’s not an insult.” Just as cautious as before, she focused on crushing the heated ore. “First time I was sent to one as a ‘reward,’ I was fifteen and way too embarrassed to take advantage of their obvious services. Figured I’d drink up my reward in their best perry and cider. About the time I started on my second mug, an extremely attractive elf sat down with me, and I was trying to work out the polite way to say I was just there for the drink when he very tactfully informed me that they offered less ‘personal’ services and the Carta’s coin could just as well pay for a luxury bath and massage.” She shrugged. “I was fifteen, so even that was more personal than I was used to, but I figured I was stuck with the Carta, I’d get everything out of it I could.” He could tell from the way her cheeks moved that she was definitely smirking at him now over the brazier. “And that’s how my addiction to long hot baths with scented oils and full massages got started. They had one oil I particularly liked that smelled like orange and cloves, and Maker, did that man have incredible hands.”

            “Hmm, and massage was all you got from him?” Now he was teasing back, and she snickered.

            “Afraid so. Elves really aren’t my type.”

            “And humans are?”

            Her eyes met his, and there was something much stronger than humor in them now. “Give me about half an hour to finish this batch and wash up, and you can test that with a real welcome back kiss.”

            His lips twisted into a knowing smile while his eyes glinted with the suggestion he planned to take her up on that, then he scowled back at the papers. “Well, these are certainly old, and the woman translating them claims she worked from Tevinter originals of the Somniardirth. What the Maker they were doing in some fort in the Exalted Marches is beyond me, and whether she really found originals or someone sold her their grandmother’s recipe for Feastday elfroot wine with a few foreign words thrown in, your guess is as good as mine. What are you going to do with it?”

            “Leave it with you.” Zheevá tensed up, focusing very closely on the contents of the bowl rather than looking up at him.

            “Maker’s breath, woman, you find a translation of one of the rarest alchemical recipes known, and you’re just going to ‘leave it’ with me?”

            “Adan, it’s going to take time to make sense of that woman’s handwriting, transcribe the whole thing on new paper, then try to make sense of the instructions. And that’s before you consider that a few of the words are completely unreadable, plus the ancient Elvhen, and while Solas may have learned some, I don’t know that I want to tell him we found this. Do you honestly think I have the time to work that out?”

            He continued to stare at the dwarf, her head bent so all he could see was the top of her green headscarf, and his expressions softened for a moment. Then he grumbled, turning back to the worktable. “So, you bring it to me and expect me to do the work, I see what you’re up to. Minx.”

            Zheevá’s head popped up, green eyes glinting. “Rock licker. Now, you work on that while I finish this, you crotchety bear. You still owe me a real kiss.” She could see his scowl slip as he bent back to the papers, a brief grin in its place.

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

Somniar means “to dream” in Elvhen, and somniari is a Tevene word for a mage who can manipulate the Fade, so they probably have the same roots. I drew on Solas’s assertion that a lot of early Tevinter culture drew on older Elvhen traditions to create a lost Tevinter alchemical recipe with a mostly elvhen name: Somniardirth or roughly “to dream of secrets.”

For anyone who noticed the pattern of chapter titles, this one stumped me, without writing something into the chapter just for the sake of the title. Apparently “J” was not a popular letter with the writers, so I just threw in the towel...

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	11. Kisses and Kin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisses and Kin
> 
> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.
> 
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Romance.

* * *

**Part 15**

* * *

            A messenger hovered uneasily in the doorway to Adan’s workshop, assuring himself that the alchemist was not preoccupied with any delicate work before clearing his throat. “Master Adan?”

            “Yes?” Adan responded curtly, carefully drying the glass vial he’d just washed, then putting it in a rack on the shelves.

            “The Inquisitor has returned, sir, and she has asked me to tell you that she’d like to see you in her rooms, please sir, if you aren’t working on anything delicate right now.”

            Adan turned, crossing his arms across his chest to glare at the messenger. “Don’t sound anything like her. Is that really what she said?”

            “Not…precisely, sir.” The red-haired young man with a Fereldan accent fidgeted nervously.

            “Then tell me what she really said and I might believe you.”

            “The…the Inquisitor said,” the young man stuttered nervously, obviously aware of the alchemist’s reputation for bad temper, “she said…‘tell that…cranky rock-licker that if he isn’t in the middle of something that’ll blow up if he ignores it that he should…get his arse to my room.’” The last few words came out in a rush, and the young man flushed when Adan barked a brief laugh.

            “Now _that_ sounds like our Cadash. Let me put a couple of more things away, then I’ll see what her high-and-mightiness wants.”

            “S…sir?” The young man hesitated in the doorway. “If I may ask…?” Adan just raised an eyebrow, waiting for the messenger to continue. “What’s a rock-licker?”

            “What cheeky dwarves call a bronto. Apparently I remind her of one.”

            “Yes, sir, thank you.” The young man fled, but his apprehension had clearly been replaced with bemusement.

* * *

 

**Part 16**

* * *

             Adan reached the top of the stairs to find Zheevá’s room apparently empty, and hesitated at the top of the stairs, scowling. “Cadash!”

            He heard the sound of splashing from behind a door to his left, and a voice called out. “Just a minute!” With a quiet grumble, he crossed his arms, waiting, studying the room curiously. The room was elegantly furnished, and huge, though cool outside of the radius of the cheerful fire. Travel packs were piled near the top of the stairs, but Zheevá’s armor and weapons were already neatly racked near the desk on the far side of the room. The alchemist snorted as he realized the variety of daggers she owned, as well as two bows that even he recognized as works of art. Other than the packs, armor, and weapons, there were few signs of the woman who lived here…when she was actually _in_ Skyhold he thought sourly, just a couple of steins on the table, carved in a style that he recognized as popular in the Freemarches and a few books on the table next to her bed.

            The door opened and closed, and he was startled to see Leliana coming toward him when he turned, looking concerned. “She’ll be out in a moment, she needed a little help.” With those cryptic words, she started down the stairs. “I’ll leave you to it, just remember this wasn’t her fault and don’t roar too much at her.” She smiled briefly before vanishing through the door, leaving him to gnaw at her ambiguous statements before he crossed to the door Leliana had come out of.

            “Cadash?”

            The door opened again, and Zheevá stepped into the room, hair wrapped in a linen towel, and wrapped in a thick green wool robe, only slippers on her feet. Adan opened his mouth to ask her what was going on, then realized she was unusually pale, and she was cradling her left arm.

            “Sod it, what did you do to yourself, Cadash?” He managed to keep from shouting too loud, but she still winced.

            “I didn’t do a sodding thing to myself, you cranky rock-licker, and try to keep it down under a dragon’s roar, would you? Someone’s playing several sets of drums on the inside of my head.”

            Within a second, he was on her, back of his hand feeling her forehead, then her cheek, scowling, but his voice much softer if still as acerbic. “If you didn’t do it, who did? And why isn’t there a healer with you?”

            She leaned her cheek into his hand tiredly. “Because a couple of nights ago when I was standing watch on the way back, we were attacked by some giant spiders. One got me on the arm, some kind of poison, but none of the antidotes I know work completely.”

            “What a cock-up! Go sit on the couch before you fall over. Where’s your workbench, I know you don’t mix everything in my workshop?”

            Zheevá pointed tiredly at a second door on the far side of the room. “In there, past the ladder. I don’t have the supplies you do, but I do have all the basics for working with poisons and antidotes.” Adan strode briskly to the door while she stumbled to the couch in front of the fire, pulling a sheepskin robe around her as she rested her head against a pile of cushions. Within a few moments, the alchemist was back with a basket of vials and herbs and a tray with a mortar and pestle which he set down on the table between the couch and the fire.

            “Alright, show me this bite. Since you sent for me, I assume it’s somewhere you’re willing to show me this time.” Despite his biting tone, his hands were gentle as he helped her sit up straight.

            “I’m not clumsy enough to let a spider get a shot at my arse, you crotchety bear.” Clumsily, she untied the belt of the robe, sliding it far enough off her shoulders to pull her left arm free. She only wore a thin sleeveless cotton tunic under the robe that left her arm bare to the shoulder for him to exam the surprisingly small, half-healed bite mark on her forearm.

            “You don’t have a fever and your eyes look fine. What symptoms?” He lightly pressed on different spots on her arm, following the major veins and watching her reactions to gauge how much pain each touch caused.

            “My arm is throbbing up to my shoulder, and every time you touch it, there’s a sharp pain like someone driving a needle into me. It hurts to move much. Headache, but I’m not sure that’s directly from the poison, I haven’t been able to sleep since I was bitten. No appetite.”

            “If you haven’t eaten or slept since then, that’s probably why you have a headache. Has it been throbbing all the way to your shoulder since you were bitten?”

            “No, it’s spread from my elbow to the shoulder over the past day and a half. Slow poison spread, whatever it is.” She rested her head against his shoulder, eyes half closed. The alchemist lightly touched her neck to check her pulse, then leaned in to cover her lips softly with his, tongue briefly sliding between them in the softest of kisses before pulling his head away to study her eyes.

            Zheevá laughed briefly, her eyes lively for a moment or two. “I expect a better kiss than that as a welcome home.”

            Adan snorted before he started rummaging in the basket, pulling out a vial and removing the stopper. “Not hardly. Sometimes you can taste the poison.”

            The dwarven woman raised an eyebrow at him. “So, I need to be concerned that you’re going to kiss anyone brought to you for poisoning? Good to know.”

            “Minx” He held the vial to her lips, helping her drink it. “That trick only works when you already know what that person should taste like, and I haven’t been kissing anyone else.” He made certain she’d drunk almost every drop of the greyish liquid, then restoppered the vial and laid it on the tray. “Relieves the headache and eases some of the pain.” He settled a couple of cushions against the arm of the couch and helped her lay back against them, covering her carefully with the sheepskin robe. Then he began quickly and neatly mixing herbs into an ointment in the mortar, grinding slowly and carefully. “The good news is, I think this is a poison that will gradually work its way out of your system, I’ve seen a couple of bites like this.”

            “And the bad news?” She watched him curiously, eyes half shut.

            “It’s only bad news if you don’t let me treat it, arse. Takes about two weeks to completely work itself out, and the pain gets worse. A lot worse. Good thing for you, I know something that’ll neutralize most of it, though your arm will be a little sore and stiff for maybe a week.”

            She grimaced. “Will I be able to ride within a day or so?”

            “Maker’s balls, woman, are you telling me you came all the way here just to leave again?” He somehow managed to roar without raising the volume of his voice at all.

            “Not my choice. Josephine sent us word that we needed to get back so we can pull everyone together to leave for Halamshiral in a proper procession. If we don’t leave within a day or so, we’ll have to risk injuring our mounts to make it there in time for the ball.” Zheevá rolled her eyes, her voice just slightly waspish. “Believe me, I’d much rather be here, making a mess in your workshop, than rubbing elbows with a bunch of Orlesian muckety-mucks who’ll look down their noses at me, and it’s the Maker’s own luck that I’m in this kind of shape for the day or so I’m here.”

             She watched him work for a minute, yawning. “You’ve asked about mine, but you’ve never mentioned any family, Adan.”

            “Never had much and what I did died during the blight and civil war. A couple of cousins in Denerim, a niece in the chantry.”

            “No one else? Never married or thought about it?”

            “There was a brother taken to Kinloch as a mage before I was born, dunno if he’s alive or dead, never even knew what his name was because my mum grieved for him as dead.” He added some more dried leaves from one jar, continuing to grind for a minute in silence. “Never married. Betrothed once, but she broke it off and married someone else two weeks later.” The alchemist shrugged.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Probably lucky; she spent every dime the other fellow had, then took to drinking.” He paused to check the texture of the mixture. “Never been much good at trusting since then, though.” Adan scooped up some of the salve and began to rub it into her arm, starting with the fingertips and working his way up toward her shoulder.

            “She was an idiot.” Half-lidded green eyes watched him work. “You have a very light touch, Adan. Just wish it were for a better reason.”

            “Ha! You admitted you like being nursemaided, arse.” His scowl was half smile.

            “Sodding spider.” Zheevá leaned into him, yawning again. “Here we are alone in front of a fire, finally, in my room with me half undressed with your hands all over my arm, no less, and I can barely move my arm and I’m ready to fall asleep on the spot.”

            “I thought it was just your way to see if I could give you a massage like that elf at the brothel.” She snorted at him, curling her legs up under her and turning into his side. “And to show off your very distracting nightshirt, minx.”

            “Ha! My bed has lots of wool blankets and furs, who says I sleep in anything? I just put this on so you could work on my arm without forgetting what you were here for.”

            He finished with the salve and got her to sit back up enough to slip her arm back into the robe. “Hmm, now there’s something to keep me busy thinking.” When the robe was back around her, he surprised her by pulling her into his lap, one hand cupped around her cheek as he bent down to kiss her very slowly and lingeringly, brushing her lips one last time before pulling his head back to search her eyes intently. “How are you feeling?”

            “Head’s starting to feel better, though I’m not sure if that’s the glop you fed me or that very distracting welcome home kiss. The throbbing in my arm’s fading some, but…” She yawned broadly, the kind that seems to go on forever, covering her mouth as she fought to keep her eyes open. “Sod it, Adan, what was in…?” The dwarf slumped against him, and he adjusted her head to rest against his shoulder, then sat with his arms around the limply sleeping woman, lips touching the top of her towel-wrapped hair, long past the point he was sure the potion had completely taken hold.

            “Maker’s breath, woman, let someone else play hero sometimes. I need you to come back safely.” He finally stood up cautiously with her in his arms, a bit surprised at how solid she really was, despite her height, and took her to the bed, laying her down on one side while he turned down the other, then very carefully shifted her and covered her up with every blanket he could find. He caressed her cheek briefly then kissed her forehead softly before walking very quietly to the stairs.

* * *

  **Part 17**

* * *

            Adan wasn’t terribly surprised to find Leliana hovering near the door into the great hall, her face conveying far more worry than she’d shown earlier. “How is she?”

            “Asleep. Think she got to me early enough that she’ll be mostly better by tomorrow, but her arm will be weak for a few days.” He scowled at her. “You’d better hope the Maker himself doesn’t show up at the front gates demanding to see her because nothing’s going to wake her up before morning, not with what I gave her.”

            “I agree, but I’m surprised she let you give her something.”

            “She didn’t. I told her it was for the headache. Little arse would have argued, and this wasn’t the time. Besides, it’ll give her something to chew me out for in the morning.” Leliana covered her mouth to hide a smile. “If you people are going to insist on risking her by dragging her right back out, someone may need to lead her horse for a few days.”

            She touched him lightly on the arm. “Adan, we wouldn’t if we had a choice, but she’s the only one we can get…”

            “Into the ball because she’s the Inquisitor, I heard.” His voice was sour. “I’m Fereldan, and as far as I’m concerned, all of Orlais isn’t worth half what she is, but if saving them helps stop that magister, then I won’t stop you.” He glanced around the great hall, seeing nobles watching them without appearing to watch and rolled his eyes. “I’m staying with her tonight so I can keep an eye on her arm and rub in more salve if it needs it. Give them nobles something juicy to gossip over.”

            Leliana gestured for one of the messengers nearby. “I’ll have food and something to drink brought up. Do you need anything from your workroom or anything for her?”

            “She’s got a kettle and pot already up there, so just stuff for making tea and some grated elfroot and dried mint. When she wakes up in the morning, there’s a chance she’ll be sick, so a basin, but the tea and herbs will help.”

            The spymaster nodded and signaled the man to take care of it for Adan. “There’ll be guards posted here, if you need anything.” Leliana smiled ruefully. “You may be the oddest pair I’ve ever known, Adan, but I am very relieved that she has you to watch out for her.”

            Looking embarrassed, Adan quickly went back through the door and up the stairs. He checked briefly on Zheevá, then rummaged through the books on her shelves until he found the alchemy books. Selecting one he wasn’t familiar with, he drew a large armchair close enough that he could see her face and began to read by the light from the fire.

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

I’ve been treating their alchemy closer to practical chemistry than classical alchemy for the simple reason that alchemy in the game works. I’m assuming they work mostly by experiment, and once they find something that works, some scholarly alchemist explains it somehow with something similar to classical alchemical theory. These two don’t worry too much about explaining how things work.

I apologize this is a bit late, but a major professional deadline this week interfered.

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	12. Leaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaping  
> On the Return from Wicked Eyes/Wicked Hearts  
> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Romance.

* * *

**Part 18**

* * *

            The long procession of horses and other mounts approached, standards of the Inquisition flying at front and back, and slowly began to trickle through the gates. Stablemen and women and soldiers who had been alerted well in advance ran forward in an organized chaos, and personal servants and guards helped nobles from their horses and organized their bags to carry them to their quarters. After most of the nobles and soldiers had passed through the gates, the three advisors, Cadash, Cassandra, Blackwall and Dorian rode in just ahead of the rear standards.

            When the dwarf reined in her mount, a dark-bearded man stepped out from the shadows by the gate to pet the neck of the small, beautifully barded black horse. “Welcome home, your worship.”

            Zheevá glared down at the alchemist. “‘Your worship?’ You’d better take that back, nug lover.” She tossed her reins to a soldier who was trying to hide a grin, kicked her feet from the stirrups and threw her leg over the saddle to slide down within inches of Adan. As soon as her feet were on the ground, she had his beard and pulled him down until his face was no more than an inch or two from hers. “That better not be the way you plan to welcome me home, you crotchety arse!”

            He just scowled at her. “That depends, arse, I’m not in a mood to play nursemaid. Have you been playing tag with a dragon or getting poisoned?”

            “No, though those would probably have been safer than dancing with the grand duchess.”

            Blackwall and Dorian leaned against the pommels of their saddles, grinning and openly watching the exchange while Josephine and Leliana handed their reins more sedately to grooms. Josephine visibly glanced around the courtyard anxiously to make certain none of the nobles and priests were still in eye or ear shot of the pair. Leliana suppressed a chuckle as she led Josephine toward the stairs, patting her reassuringly on the arm. Cullen and Cassandra rode their mounts toward the stables, so deep in conversation that they apparently missed the two facing off.

            “Did you now?” He raised an eyebrow at her, still scowling. “Right. And should I be expecting this grand duchess to visit?”

            “Two dances were enough for her, I think. She asked me to dance for the court, then to an assassin’s dance, so you won’t meet her unless it’s in a box.” Zheevá smirked at him. “Now, are you going to welcome me home or not? Because if not, I’ll ask Dorian to take me to the tavern to get drunk, you rock-licker.”

            Dorian cheerfully piped up, “My dear Inquisitor, I would be delighted to help you sample the delights of the tavern if this oaf doesn’t have the good sense to kiss you. It’s not as if a score of people haven’t watched you kiss in the tavern…at a safe distance.”

            Adan shot a scorching glare at the mage who simply raised an eyebrow that clearly meant _what are you waiting for, idiot_ , before very gently covering Zheevá’s lips with his own in a kiss that was as soft as it was obviously thorough. The dwarf’s hand slipped from his beard to the back of his neck as their kiss extended, to cheers and laughter from several guards leaning on the battlements above to watch, cut off just as suddenly when Cullen and Cassandra came back in sight from the stables. Adan brushed her lips once last time with a softly murmured “Any more doubts that I missed you, minx?”

            “Maker’s breath! Dorian, you’re drinking on your own tonight.” She ran her fingers through his beard, gently combing it. “I missed you too, old bear.” They finally straightened, realizing just how much of an audience they’d gained. Adan scowled at both Dorian and Blackwall as Zheevá discovered Cassandra was trying to hide a grin. Cullen had an expression which was much harder to read, though he smiled and gave her a polite half-bow before heading up the stairs toward his tower. Or possibly to find out which guards had been cheering the exhibition.

            Adan reached for her saddlebags, stroking the neck of the mare briefly again before the soldier led her away, finally followed by Blackwall and Dorian, the mage winking at Zheevá as they passed. “She’s a beauty. What did you name her?”

            “Astyth.” Adan raised an eyebrow curiously at her. “She’s named after a dwarven paragon, so probably not a good idea to repeat her name in earshot of any _proper_ dwarves. I thought it fit her, though.” They started up the stairs from the courtyard which now showed few signs of the chaos of the arrivals. “I didn’t expect to see you before I had a bath, I seem to recall that you prefer I not smell like horse. And eat first so you don’t think I’m hinting for you to mother hen me.”

            His grin turned smug. “Ha! Sister Leliana sent word by one of her birds last night, so we had a good idea when you’d arrive. I suggested to Lady Josephine’s aide that having hot baths ready at least for you and the ladies would be a good way to prove her competence, so there’s one waiting in your room. Get your bath, and I’ll bring you some food; you’ve been kissing noble arse all the way to Halam’shiral and back for a week and a half, they can manage without you tonight.”

            She grinned at him impishly. “Mmm, going to feed me in the bathtub and scrub my back?”

            “Minx, more likely dump a bucket of snowmelt over your head if you take too long.” He turned toward the door down to the kitchens as they entered the main hall and Zheevá rolled her eyes and turned to face the gauntlet of nobles.

* * *

  **Part 19**

* * *

           In the stables, Blackwall and Dorian both unsaddled and began grooming their own horses rather than wait for the overwhelmed grooms. “So, I know why _I_ got a glare from our good alchemist, but why did you?”

            Blackwall shook his head, grinning at the mage. “I suspect that was a reminder that our dear Inquisitor is spoken for, especially since I spend a great deal more time with her than he can. Not that I needed the reminder, even if she is an amazing woman; I could see which way the wind was blowing the first time I saw them together.”

           “Have a thing for dwarves, or just for dangerous women?” Dorian gently teased, but Blackwall rolled his eyes in answer.

           “Everyone’s the same height lying down, and that’s a woman with the kind of curves that you have to work at not thinking about touching…for those of us who like women, at least.”

           Dorian began checking the hooves of his stallion, chuckling back at Blackwall and completely at ease with the Warden now, despite their initial hostility. “I like women fine, just not in my bed. And the dangerous part?”

          “Doesn’t matter, like I said, I saw the way the wind was blowing. Of course, he might also have been reminding both of us that if we come back safely and she doesn’t, we’d better taste our food and drink carefully for a while. It doesn’t pay to anger a good alchemist known for mixing poisons, you know.”

          They both finished wiping down their mounts about the same time, and put them in their stalls as a groom came past with buckets of grain and water and another followed with fresh hay. “Now there’s a charming thought. Why don’t we get out of the way of these good people and have a couple of drinks in the tavern. Maybe Maryden will have a new song or two.”

          “Sounds good. Wasn’t there one of the new recruits who was flirting with you last time we were here, an Orlesian from Montsimmard?”

          “You mean the fair-haired young man who heard ‘Tevinter’ and saw the mage staff and didn’t run screaming ‘blood mage!’ I suppose that does count as flirting for you southerners.”

* * *

  **Part 20**

* * *

            Zheevá came into the main room, drying her short blonde hair and wrapping it in a linen towel as she grinned at the dark-bearded figure seated on the couch in front of the fire who silently watched her cross the room in her dark green robe in the fading afternoon light. He offered her one of her carved wooded steins as she approached and nodded to the platter of warm savory pastries wrapped around fillings of meat, cheese, or vegetables without a word, just a warmly affectionate grin. Just as silently, she toasted him and took a cautious drink from the stein, almost sputtering in surprise.

            “Perry? Andraste’s ass, Adan, the only thing called perry I could find in Orlais tasted like horsepiss, and Josephine told me we couldn’t get decent perry closer than Denerim. Where did you get _good_ perry?”

            His smile turned smug at her reaction. “Asked for it.”

            “Just like that?” She took another, deeper drink before biting into a cheese-filled pastry. “When I asked, Josephine pointed out that it would be difficult to bring here and wasn’t something the _nobles_ drank. Well, alright, so almost no one else on either side of this benighted border drinks perry, but she made it sound so…common.” Her green eyes sparkled challengingly at him with her dig at Ferelden.

            “When an alchemist puts something on a requisition, the clerks don’t usually ask why, salroka.” He surprised a burst of laughter from her as she popped the last bite of pastry into her mouth, slowly licking a bit of cheese from her thumb while holding his eyes with hers, gleaming with mischief at the way he watched her.

            “A man after my own heart, who knows how to bend the rules just a little.” She picked up another pastry, resting her weight against his legs and watching him intently. “And you asked Varric what salroka meant, hah! The real question, though, is how did you know perry was my favorite drink?”

            “You might have mentioned it once or twice.” His expression was just as smug, but he was watching her just as intently. “And I might have asked Flissa while we were in Haven if there was anything you’d asked after but she couldn’t get for you.”

            She wolfed the last bite of the meat pastry and chased it with more perry, cackling and wagging a finger at him as she set the stein down. “Sod it Adan, you’re a _snoop_!”

            He chuckled, capturing her finger to plant a brief kiss on the very end of it before letting it go. “Maybe. At least I didn’t go snooping in your cabinets. Want some more?”

            Zheevá suddenly shifted her weight, vaulting herself onto his lap and straddling his legs with hers before grabbing his beard gently in both hands as she leaned into him. “So, you meet me at the gate.” She kissed the right side of his mouth lightly. “You sneak my favorite drink onto a requisition.” She kissed the left side just as lightly, her eyes locked with his. “Bathwater that mysteriously smells of oranges and cloves.” She kissed his nose. “Can I assume you had plans for this evening?”

            He chuckled, hands comfortably around her waist. “Other than not wanting to share you for one evening with the nobles and every drunk in the tavern who has to tell you how wonderful you are? Not really.”

            She started to lean closer to kiss him full on the lips, then stopped, drawing back to stare at him in confusion.

            “Why are you staring at me like that, minx?”

            Several expressions flashed across her face, faster than he could identify them, then she sat back on his knees, laughing softly. “Sod it, Adan, just when I think I have you figured out…” Very softly she combed her fingers through his beard, eyes fixed on his. “In the Carta, when someone offers you a gift, particularly something personal, there are always…strings attached and you think carefully about accepting. I thought…”

            Adan looked faintly offended. “You thought I did those things for you to get you in bed? Sod it, Zheevá, I did them because I thought you’d _like_ them!”

            She shook her head and sighed, leaning forward again to nestle her face into his neck, one arm around his shoulder. “Adan, it’s the only way I’ve ever known someone to ask before. You know, if I’d been uninterested, I’d be wearing more than a robe.”

            Adan kissed top of her head, stroking the damp towel, his voice taking on a husky note. “I’m quite well aware of how little you’re wearing considering where you’re sitting, minx…especially since that robe doesn’t cover a sodding thing below your waist when you sit like that.” She chuckled into his neck and bit him gently. “And it’s not as if the idea doesn’t make this room feel like someone built the fire up way too high, but as long as I get you to myself for the evening for once, I’ll be a happy man.”

            “You had me to yourself last time I was in Skyhold, even stayed the night.” She continued nibbling his neck, and he found her earlobe, barely uncovered by the linen towel and began to kiss it.

            “You’re lovely when you’re sleeping, but not much company, Zheevá.”

            “Should have thought of that before you slipped me a sleeping draught.” She sat up straighter, fingers combing his beard again. “That’s twice you’ve called me by name, you know.”

            He pointedly kept his eyes on hers, smirking. “Considering what you’re wearing and where you’re sitting, Cadash seems a bit stuffy.”

            “Enjoying the view? So, how _do_ other people ask?”

            “Just ask. Unless you’ve suddenly gone all shy and maidenly on me.”

She snorted softly at the idea. “Did you lock the door when you got here?” One slender finger followed the long scar on the left side of his head, her eyes intent on his.

            “Of course.” He caught her finger, licking the tip of it before kissing it, eyes still holding hers. “Otherwise some sodding noble or other would come barging in for a chat.”

            Zheevá bit her lip at the feel of his tongue and lips on her finger, then ran her other hand over his short hair, almost giggling. “It’s so short, it almost feels like velvet, you know.”

            “Does it now? And what does _your_ hair feel like, minx?”

            She leaned back forward to bite his earlobe gently as his arms slipped back around her waist, whispering in his ear. “Unwrap it and find out, old bear.”

            Carefully, he unwound the linen towel and tossed it aside to run his fingers through the damp curls and tease them out. Adan’s smile was tender, but he tilted her mouth up to capture it in a kiss that was a great deal more heated than their kiss in the courtyard, and when they finished, she leaned closer to his ear again, her voice soft and husky.

            “If you want to stay the night, there’s other hair to play with, old bear.”

            He laughed at her unabashed suggestion, then suddenly one hand was pulling the tie of her robe undone and the other hand slid around her waist inside the robe, pulling her close so she was lying on top of him, kissing her with a heat that left no doubt of his answer.

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

I couldn't resist the conversation between Blackwall and Dorian as I always felt they'd developed into friends when they have both been in my party. And there's a pretty strong hint even when you don't romance Blackwall that he would have been interested.

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	13. Midnight and Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midnight and Mist  
> Continuing “Leaping.” Somewhat NSFW.  
> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Romance.

* * *

**Part 21**

* * *

The fire was banked and the only real light in the room was the dim circle cast by the night candle in the corner. Moving as much through intimate familiarity with the room as from sight, Zheevá padded back to the bed, offering Adan a wet linen cloth. He grunted his thanks, eyes more on her than what he was doing as she climbed nimbly back into bed and under the piled blankets next to him, resting on one elbow to watch with a grin. When the alchemist finished, he dropped the cloth over the edge of the bed and pulled her down to him for a very slow, thorough kiss, with less of passion and more of affection than before. When it ended, she giggled softly against his lips. “You know, old bear, you’re going to step on that wet cloth in the morning and swear you’re walking on ice.”

“It’ll give you something to fuss at me about, salroka.” She traced the curve of his lips with her finger, giggling again at his use of the dwarven word. “Sod it, I never thought I’d hear _you_ giggle.”

“Well, now you know. Is that a problem, arse?” Now her grin was challenging in the faint light.

“I could get used to it, minx, especially if you do your giggling in bed with me.” His hands caressed her back slowly, capturing her finger between his teeth briefly, causing her to giggle again. When he released it, she began stroking his beard.

“I take it you don’t plan to suddenly get dressed and leave then?” The dwarven woman’s question was almost casual, but he turned her face to meet his eyes.

“You asked me to stay the night, or has that changed?”

She snorted. “Not likely. Sod it, Adan, I’m still making sense of how this works. You might share a bed with someone in the Carta, but you don’t go to _sleep_ next to them. I may not have been the only one who had no choice when they started, but there are also plenty of people who ended up there because they _like_ hurting people.” Zheevá kissed him briefly on the nose. “I’m more used to worrying about whether my knives are in arms’ reach than whether someone really wants more than a tumble, old bear.”

“Trusting’s not easy for either of us, I guess.” He brushed her hair out of her face gently, then paused in mid-stroke to glance at the shadowy knife rack nearby as if trying to count the dark shapes. “Zheevá, where are your favorite knives right now?”

She suddenly ducked her head, burying her face in his chest. “They’re, umm, between the mattress and the headboard.” The alchemist began to roar with laughter, abruptly muffled when she grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “Arse. I always sleep with them in reach. Alone. If I was worried about you, there’d be an extra five or six knives hidden in the bed one way or another. I won’t tell you how many weapons I have hidden around the room out of habit.” The dark-bearded man yanked the pillow away from his face, still snickering as he pulled her down to him to bite her chin lightly.

“Maker’s breath, woman, I do love you.” He felt her stiffen, and stroked her face gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Adan…what does someone like me know about love? I know I care about you, a lot. I think about you when I’m gone all the time, I go to sleep and wake up thinking about you. The idea of something happening to you ties my stomach in knots. But love? The last time I thought I knew anything about love, I found out I was nothing but collateral for a loan.” Her fingers tangled in his beard, and she rested her head on his arm, cheek against his. “I told you once I wouldn’t lie to you, and I won’t say it until I really know what it is I feel.”

He ran his fingers gently through her hair. “I didn’t say it because I wanted you to say it too. I said it because I wanted you to know how _I_ feel. I don’t want to…regret not telling you.” His hesitation caused her head to shoot up, studying his eyes as best she could in the dim candlelight.

“You worry that I won’t come back, don’t you?”

He shrugged, capturing the hand that was in his beard and planting a kiss on her palm. “You’re not exactly making pleasure trips when you leave here, Zheevá, of course I think about it. Doesn’t mean I don’t know you have to do it. But I don’t need words from you, unless it’s ‘old bear’ or ‘cranky rock licker.’” Suddenly his mood shifted and he pulled her down for another long, slow kiss. “So, you go to sleep thinking about me, do you? Is that all you do, _think_?” Adan raised an eyebrow suggestively, and she giggled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Mmm, I’ll just have to coax you into a demonstration, then.”

* * *

  **Part 22**

* * *

The nightcandle still burned in the corner, but the grey light of pre-dawn was beginning to encroach on that circle of light, a misty fog faintly visible through the windows and doors. Zheevá curled sleepily into Adan’s side within his arm, one leg draped over his thigh as she played with his beard. The alchemist ran the fingers of his free hand through her hair, both aware they were grinning rather foolishly at each other and not caring.

“Mmm, this is a nice way to wake up.” She combed her fingers through his beard, watching his eyes as he drew the blankets more firmly around them.

“Waking up with a beautiful, deadly woman pressed up against me, I can think of much worse things, salroka.”

She giggled at his use of the dwarven term, then covered a yawn. “Old bear. You’re just trying to prove that an alchemist knows exactly how to use his hands.”

“Is that so?” The hand that was playing with her hair slid down to her shoulder in lazy circles that slowly worked their way lower to tease her nipples.

“Mmm, yes, precisely where to touch and how much pressure.” She bit his shoulder as his hand explored. “Rock licker.”

He rolled over so he was facing her, softly nuzzling her hair and ear. “Rock licker? Does that mean I should start searching for pebbles to lick?”

“Mmm, not yet.” She turned his face toward hers, kissing him slowly as his hand softly stroked her stomach then back up to her breasts. “So, no regrets about sharing a bed with an ex-Carta dwarf?”

“Arse! So your legs are a little shorter than mine.” He bit her ear as his hands continued to play, “It’s the woman, Zheevá, I want next to me. Those curves that make it very hard to think when you get close, those are just sauce on the pudding.”

“I make you hard, do I?” She smirked at him as her hands began their own exploration, and he smirked back as he pinched a sensitive spot, extracting a gasp.

“You still need proof of that?”

She snickered, “Well, you did finally keep your promise.”

“What promise?” He inhaled the scent of oranges and cloves in her hair and began kissing and biting his way down toward her shoulder, feeling her response as her hands caressed his back and hips.

“When we met, you promised to show me how you make things burst into flame on contact with the air.”

“You minx, I _thought_ you were teasing me that day.” He gently bit her neck where it joined her shoulder, chuckling as she gasped, her hips rocking forward as she pulled him closer to her, then rolling both of them so he was above her.

“I thought you liked to be on top.” His fingers ran through her hair as his hands began stroking down from her shoulders, smirking at her when she gasped.

“Was that ever in doubt, salroka?”

“I’d have been shocked if you didn’t, which brings me to the point that you aren’t at the moment.” Her eyes reflected the flame from the night candle as she tugged his beard, bringing him close enough for a long, heated kiss.

“It’s cold.” He snorted before kissing her chin.

“So I’m a blanket now, am I?”

“What, gonna complain? You don’t want to warm up a poor helpless Freemarcher freezing in your Ferelden…” Adan’s mouth cut off her words, and he felt her giggle against his lips as he captured her hands above her head.

“Helpless my arse.”

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

I should have stated at the beginning of Acerbic Alchemy that I call Adan an alchemist rather than an apothecary on purpose. An apothecary would only mix up medicines (healing and rejuv) while he’s also in charge of producing defensive and offensive potions. I just assume he was making his living as an apothecary and so that’s what everyone called him, while Zheevá would recognize he knew far more than an apothecary.

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	14. Nquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armor and breakfast Nquisitiveness  
> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Romance.

* * *

**Part 23**

* * *

“Adan, you don’t have to help me with this.” The dwarven woman stood patiently as the seated alchemist simply grunted and continued working out how the buckles on the chest armor worked.

“Never said I _had_ to, said I wanted to know how, arse.”

“You could just watch me do it, rock licker.” She rolled her eyes at him, but let him continue. When he finished, he leaned forward to capture her, nibbling her ear.

“If I know how to put it on you, I know how to take it off.” Zheevá laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder before grabbing his beard for a brief kiss.

“Now _that_ I understand! OK, jacket next, the belt over that, then the sash just above that. The gauntlets go on last, but I’ll just carry them til after breakfast.” She grinned mischievously, letting him work her arms into the jacket. “Unless you have a thing for leather gloves. If you do, I’ll wear them until breakfast.”

He picked up her belt of tools and began fastening it over her jacket. “Can’t say I haven’t gotten rather fond of leather, but that’s mostly because of how it fits you, minx.” He tightened the belt until she nodded, then buckled it before tugging her forward to nibble her ear again as he murmured, “Save the leather gloves for when we have some time.”

Zheevá gave him a suggestive smile, but he just began trying to work out how the sash went on her. “Sodding thing, this doesn’t look that complicated when you’re wearing it. And what are these stiff plates sewn in?” Giggling, she took his hands and led them through the complicated wrapping and knot.

“Those give me some protection in case someone gets a shot at my kidneys, old bear.” She picked up her head wrap out of the few remaining items on the bed.

“Want to give this a try?” Adan reached out to run his fingers through her hair with a sigh.

“Sod it, I _like_ seeing your hair.”

She lifted up the hair at her temples, slipping her hand under his. “You may not mind the white hairs, old bear, but I’d rather people not think I might be getting old and slowing down. And in a brawling type fight, it also keeps someone from getting a handful of hair to hold me by, and it provides padding under my leather cap when I’m in the field.” The dwarf leaned against his chest to nibble his ear. “Just think of it as something to look forward to when we’re alone, salroka.”

Slowly, she led his hands through the complicated wrapping, tying it off and tucking the end neatly under, but his hands lingered to stroke the fabric, eyes thoughtful. “Wishing we could stay in my room today?”

He chuckled, fingers stroking her cheek, lingering on her lips as she grinned at him. “Just thinking about how long today will be, though I probably need the…rest, salroka.” His eyes challenged her for a moment before he pulled her closer for a long hug. “You’ve got important meetings today, though, and you won’t be able to skip dinner again, not to mention letting them nobles carp at you tonight. Want a hot bath waiting?”

Zheevá buried her face in his neck, inhaling deeply. “Mmm, with you in it preferably.”

“That could be arranged, though I won’t promise it’ll smell of orange and cloves.”

She giggled, and they held each other for a few moments longer in silence. Then she stepped away almost self-consciously and began arranging her weapons while Adan stood to pull his robe on and fasten it, watching her conceal small knives all over herself with amusement. “Andraste’s ass, just how many weapons _do_ you carry on you, woman?”

“Hopefully enough for anything.” She slid two small sheathed daggers into the back of her sash, then strapped her favorites, retrieved earlier from the headboard while the alchemist smirked at her, over her shoulders. “Though I don’t _expect_ to need any of them today. Can’t imagine needing one in a meeting with Cullen, even if I’m not looking forward to it.”

He dug his boots out from under the couch while he listened. “Why not? I thought you liked the commander, but you always seem a little uncomfortable around him.”

She groaned. “Because, salroka, I used to help smuggle lyrium and even processed some of it. Watching him trying to break his addiction to it, even if his didn’t come from the Carta, reminds me…”

“That what you did cost somebody the same pain? So he makes you feel guilty? Talk to him about it and get it over with.” His shrewd bluntness made her groan again. “It isn’t as if you had a lot of choices, arse, at least compared to the people who chose to take it.”

“Sod it, you cranky rock licker…Alright, though he’s so businesslike most of the time, it may be a while before I get a chance that makes any sense.” Adan finished lacing his boots and stood, and Zheevá made a face at him. “So, going to walk down to eat breakfast with me, or planning to slip down the backway to grab food at the kitchen to take to your workshop like normal?”

“Arse, of course I’ll eat with you, but your table’s normally for your senior people.” He closed the distance between himself and the dwarf, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. “Or did you think I was going to pretend nothing was going on between us?” Her answer was a silent shrug. “If last night wasn’t enough to convince you that I love you, I guess I’ll just have to try harder tonight, salroka.”

Her hand closed over his and tightened for a moment, then her normal mischief was back in her eyes. “You know, that sounds like an incentive to _not_ believe you, old bear.” He snorted. “And of course they’ll make room for you at our table. Half the time, Bull doesn’t eat with us, and Sera and Dorian almost never have breakfast with us. At least the nobles don’t usually show up in the Great Hall before mid-morning, so we don’t have to worry about being ‘proper.’ Come on.”

* * *

**Part 24**

* * *

Contrary to her prediction, everyone except Cullen, Cassandra, and Vivienne were already there when the pair entered the Great Hall. The reason for the unusual enthusiasm for breakfast quickly became obvious as they discovered two chairs open between Leliana and Varric and the majority of the table smirking at their approach.

“Sod it,” Zheevá murmured softly to Adan as they approached. “Maybe we should both have snuck down to the kitchen.” He grumbled, but made a point of helping her into her tall chair next to Leliana before taking his chair silently, glaring at Iron Bull’s smirk.

“Good morning, Inquisitor!” Leliana practically chirped, she was so cheerful as she passed a basket of warm bread rolls to Zheevá. “You must have been _very_ tired from your trip; you went to bed _so_ early last night. Did you sleep well?” Her eyes gleamed with mischief, but the Inquisitor just took the basket, selected a couple of rolls and handed the basket to Adan who was beginning to scowl.

“Very well, thank you…when I slept.” Zheevá began to butter the rolls nonchalantly, ignoring the low grumble beside her. “I’m oddly tired still this morning, but ravenous.”

Dorian threaded his fingers together under his chin, grinning at her in turn. “Oh, my dear Cadash, was something keeping you _up_ last night?”

Zheevá snagged several small sausages from the next platter before passing it on to the glowering alchemist, deadpanning a completely innocent face when she answered. “Oh, nothing was keeping _me_ up last night, Dorian,” then popped one of the small sausages into her mouth whole to Dorian’s amusement.

Josephine had a hand over her mouth, smothering a giggle. Iron Bull grinned and shoved a jug of steaming coffee in the Inquisitor’s direction. “It’s about time you relaxed and worked off a little tension, Boss. You were so antsy in Halam’shiral I thought you’d chuck all three of them off the balcony of the palace…” Zheevá launched a roll at his head, and he just guffawed as it bounced off his head.

Varric piped up, leaning back with a mug of coffee cradled in his hands as he peered around Adan to smirk at her. “You certainly look much more…relaxed this morning, Cadash, for someone who didn’t get much sleep. I’d have to guess you approved of your evening’s entertainment.”

“I can’t remember an evening I enjoyed more, Varric.” She popped another sausage into her mouth, licking her fingers slowly, one by one, as she grinned back at him.

“Maker’s breath, woman!” Adan growled irritably at the suggestive banter.

“What?” She wiped her fingers on her napkin, pulling the alchemist closer by his beard to briefly kiss his cheek as he glared. “I could lie and say it was a dreadful night, but since it’s obviously going to be the topic of conversation this morning whether we like it or not, is that really what you’d want me to say, old bear?” He started to growl again, then stopped, perplexed, then shrugged, addressing himself to his breakfast with a trace of a smile. “I thought so.”

“Far be it from me to argue with Your Worship.” Leliana, caught unprepared, sprayed coffee toward the empty seat across from her before she could cover her mouth, choking, while Zheevá gave him a sharp jab to the ribs.

“Keep that up, rock licker…” Adan noticed that Blackwall, directly across from him, was trying to surpress a smirk.

“What?”

“Lady Josephine, I do believe the Inquisitor’s quarters must be infested with some sort of biting insect.” Blackwall instead addressed himself to the ambassador, while looking back and forth between Zheevá and Adan, his eyes clearly on their necks, and Josephine, who’d been pounding Leliana’s back, began giggling again. Adan just snorted.

“If you tell me you’re surprised she’s a biter, I’m going to suggest she needs someone watching her back who can see the high dragon about to land on him.”

Blackwall grinned at the acerbic response. “No, I’d have to say I’d be much more surprised if she wasn’t.” Cadash glared at both of them in mock anger. “I’m not sure whether to offer my congratulations or condolences. I’ll go with congratulations since that seems safer.” He winked at Adan as Cadash made a rude gesture at him.

“I notice you aren’t commenting on the fact _he_ bites.”

“Was that supposed to be a surprise either?”

Leliana had recovered, and leaned closer to whisper something to Cadash who chuckled before adding cryptically, “Oh, yes. Some things are worth waiting for, Nightingale. Especially alchemy.”

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

I apologize this one took so long; I had a terrible case of writer's block on this chapter. The next chapter may take a little longer than normal as well...

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.

 


	15. Only a Carta Thug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perseverance as the conversation might have gone for a dwarf Inquisitor. Plus baths.  
> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.  
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Romance.

* * *

**Part 25**

* * *

“I should be taking it.” Cullen’s voice dropped almost to a whisper.

“You give enough, Cullen, I’m not asking you for more. The Inquisition can be your chance to start over. If you want it to be.” Zheevá studied him closely, his next words tired and uncertain.

“I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“It is.” She put every bit of her belief in him in her voice as she grasped his arm, hoping to give him confidence in his strength.

“Alright.” Cullen rubbed his neck with his right hand as she stepped back, biting her lip as she watched him. “I really thought you’d tell me to take it, you know. I mean,…” He hesitated and she laughed humorlessly at finding the subject forced so quickly after her conversation with Adan.

“I’m only a Carta thug, a lyrium smuggler, so you expected me to want you to go back on it? Bad for business if people find out the addiction can be broken?” The ex-Templar nodded, sinking tiredly back into his chair.

“Frankly, yes.”

“I didn’t choose what I was, Commander. Long story, I’ll tell you sometime when you’re feeling better if you want; I think _you_ deserve that at least even if…it isn’t exactly my favorite subject. But even if I actually gave two nugs about the Carta’s business, someone breaking the addiction probably won’t hurt them _or_ Orzammar. I’d rather see you break the addiction and give hope to the people who have no choice or who did it because they wanted to serve. Like you.” She fidgeted uncomfortably. “I admit I never realized just what lyrium could do to humans before this, but lyrium does serve a purpose too. Mages don’t _need_ lyrium to perform magic, but without it, Templars, or whoever ends up dealing with rogue mages now, will be at a disadvantage.”

Cullen gripped the arms of his chair, puzzled. “So, you _do_ think giving up my Templars’ abilities is a problem?”

Cadash put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “Andraste’s ass, no! Don’t ever think I meant that. You’re not with the Inquisition as a Templar, though your background is sodding useful since _I_ don’t know shit about magic or mages. Well, I know more now than I did, but you understand what I mean. You’re here as a soldier, but almost as much, you’re important here as an _ex_ -Templar.”

“Now you aren’t making any sense. Why would being an ex-Templar matter?” Cullen rubbed his forehead, clearly fighting a headache, and Zheevá sighed.

“Look, most people who become Templars choose to do so, hopefully because they want to protect people, right?”

“Yes, at least in theory.” There was bitterness in his words that, with what he’d said earlier about Kinloch and the Gallows made her wonder just how many of the other kind he’d met, how disillusioned he’d become.

“To do that, they need lyrium. The Templars in Tevinter are impotent because they don’t have the abilities that lyrium give them, correct?” She levered herself up to sit on one of the kegs in the corner so she was at a better height to see him.

“Yes, which is why I should…” She cut him off before he could get any further.

“No. The problem has been, once someone begins taking lyrium as a Templar, the Chantry can and has used that addiction to twist a Templar’s purpose. When you _know_ that the consequence of standing up to an abuse may mean being thrown out to die or go mad, how many people are going to turn a blind eye?” She noticed that Cullen looked uncomfortable, and wondered just how bad many other Templars must have been when _this_ one knew he’d ignored abuses. That was a chilling thought… “What does that do to a person, Commander, _especially_ one who started out with good intentions? How long until they stop hearing any cry for help and stop thinking of mages as people at all?”

“Not as long as I’d like to think.” Cullen’s words were slow and tinged with guilt, but she pressed on to drive her nail home.

“When Templars start training as children and they find out that they can lose their memories entirely to lyrium, how much does that threat mean to them then? When you’re young, you never believe it can happen to you or it’s so far away you just don’t think about it. But eventually even those Templars who don’t stop caring because of the manipulation by the Chantry begin to realize just what’s waiting for them. But _you_ , you have the power to change all of that. _You._ ”

Now he was looking at her as if she was mad, but she simply raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s the headache, but I’m not following you, Inquisitor.”

“Commander, if _you_ prove that lyrium withdrawal can be survived, you have removed the key link in the chain of the Chantry’s power that leads to abuses, and the whole nasty cycle, hopefully, falls apart. If the threat of being expelled from the order for fighting abuses no longer carries a certainty of death or madness, then hopefully far fewer Templars will simply stop caring about mages, much less begin to abuse them themselves.”

He stared down at his desk intently, clearly considering her argument. “You…may be right. I hadn’t thought about it quite that way before.”

“Cullen, if there are mages that you feel that you failed, or even Templars, then believe in this as your atonement to them. If you can _prove_ the withdrawal can be survived, you may make a bigger difference in the long run than anything I do.” Golden eyes met her green ones disbelievingly. “Oh, I intent to kick Corypheusus’s ass if we can figure out how, believe me. But in the Maker’s longer plan, that’s just slapping a poultice and a bandage on a wound. _You_ can make a change that will shake the foundations of the Chantry and possibly reshape Thedas.” **  
**

* * *

**Part 26**

* * *

Cadash relaxed back against Adan, enjoying the feel of his fingers massaging the soap into her scalp. “Mmm, old bear, that’s exactly what I need after today.”

“Long one?” He finished working the soap in, then slid his hands down to her shoulders to begin working at the knots there.

“Cullen was having such a bad bout of withdrawal sickness that he wanted us to replace him. Then he tried to get me to let him go back on lyrium.” She angled her head forward to let her get at the knots more easily.

“You didn’t let him.” She was a little surprised at the assurance of his statement and chuckled.

“Of course not. If he does that now, he’ll never quit taking lyrium, and eventually he’ll have a choice of either giving his leash back to the Chantry or giving it to the Carta. He’s too good a man to be owned like that.”

Adan nibbled her ear, carefully avoiding the soap. “Did you talk to him about you and the Carta?”

“Only a little. Didn’t seem like the right time to go ‘oh, by the way, I was not just Carta, but one of the reasons the Carta has been as successful as it has been for the last twenty-five or so years.’”

He bit down on her ear a little harder, and she yelped. “Just make sure you don’t keep putting it off, arse. I know you hate real confrontation. So what _did_ you talk to him about?”

“Told him that he could break a lot of the source of abuse by Templars by showing that they really have a choice, an escape hatch. The real problem has been the consequence to a Templar who stands up to a superior who’s doing something wrong, expulsion followed by death or madness from withdrawal.”

“Close your eyes and let me rinse the soap, minx.” He began slowly pouring a pan of warm water over her head, thinking aloud as he poured. “A lot of them will still die or go mad; there must be some reason they’re warned about withdrawal, and not all of them will have the balls that the Commander has.” The alchemist handed her a cloth to wipe away the water dripping down her face.

“Agreed, _but!_ The ones who have the balls to stand up to their superiors are exactly the ones who’ll have the best chance to endure the withdrawal, because they _have_ the guts to face it and endure. Honestly, I didn’t tell him that in some ways, it might have the opposite effect; more stone blind fools thinking _they_ can take it for a while then just stop. But I expect most of those will be people trying to learn to do what Templars do without the training.” She sighed. “Tevinter has toothless Templars without lyrium, which shows that we still need something effective for dealing with rogue mages. And frankly, the entire economy of Orzammar would collapse if the legal and the illegal lyrium trades were shut down. That would have some pretty nasty repercussions, and not just to dwarves, so I don’t know what the answer is.”

Adan slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, his wet beard tickling her shoulder. “I think you’re onto something though. For a woman who’s ‘only a Carta thug,’ you sound a lot like a philosopher.”

“Arse. I’m a carta thug who survived.” She shrugged, leaning her head back onto his shoulder comfortably. “Besides, if anyone understands all the threads running from the lyrium mines, it’s the Carta.” Zheevá tilted her head to capture a quick kiss. “As much as I love how Dagna’s rune keeps the water hot, if we don’t get out soon, we’re going to resemble prunes.”

“Is that your only reason, minx?” His hands slid up from her waist to begin exploring.

“This tub isn’t big enough for anything else, and there’s a nice warm, comfortable bed a few feet away, old bear.” Her hands began to stroke his legs, and she turned enough to claim another, longer kiss.

“Mmm, and I think you challenged me this morning to be more convincing, and neither of us have any sodding idea how long until they send you back out into the field.” Abruptly he shifted, lifting her to her feet so she could climb out of the tub, then ducking his face into the water to rinse off traces of soap. “Pour the perry and I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Don’t take too long or I might fall asleep on you, rock licker.” She grabbed a towel and began drying as she walked out the door into the main room.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of a way to wake you up.”

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	16. Persevering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perseverance as the second conversation might have gone for a dwarven Inquisitor.
> 
> A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.
> 
> Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Romance.

* * *

**Part 27**

* * *

 

“If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask.”

Cadash flashed a grin at Cullen’s brisk salute, then covered a yawn. “Maker, sorry. Not enough sleep.”

Cullen chuckled before taking a deep breath, inhaling the crisp dawn air. “I admit, I was a bit surprised to see you up so early; you don’t usually seem to come down from your rooms until breakfast.” They began walking slowly down the battlements toward the next tower.

She scratched her ear sheepishly, looking embarrassed. “Umm, Adan may have kicked me out of bed and told me to get my arse out here to talk to you.”

Cullen opened the door to the tower for her, waiting until she entered to follow. “So the two of you…,” he hesitated as if not quite sure how to word his question.

“That’s right, you weren’t at breakfast yesterday.” They passed quickly through the tower, returning the salute of a guard walking past on a patrol. “Be glad, the humor was Carta-bad at least, and I thought Josephine and Leliana would snicker themselves off their chairs. My love life’s never been a matter of public curiosity before.” She groaned so feelingly that Cullen laughed sympathetically.

“I’d heard a few rumors, and I suspect there may have been a betting pool involved. I usually ignore that sort of gossip myself, but, well, you two _were_ rather public when we got back from Orlais.”

They’d reached his office, and he pushed out a chair for her, but she perched on one of the taller crates again. “I suppose we were. I’ve never had someone waiting for me before; it’s a weird feeling at my age to realize I matter to someone. In the Carta, the only thing they cared about was that a job got done and as many breathing bodies made it back as possible.”

He leaned back in his chair, hands relaxed and folded across his chest. “You never had a…partner before?” Cullen’s voice was tentatively curious, hesitating as he tried to choose a term to describe her relationship.

“People I spent an hour or two with, here and there? Sure. But a smart person doesn’t risk getting more involved than that in the Carta.” Cadash drew out a bit of dark, finely grained wood that was already in a rough bird shape and a very small knife which she used to whittle it slowly and deliberately. “How about you, Commander? Templars don’t take the same vows as Chantry priests, and Rylen told me they can even marry, just not other Templars or mages.”

He tensed a little, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I’ve only met a few women I ever thought I could feel much for, and none of them were someone I could pursue or I met them at a time when I wasn’t fit to do so. Not that I haven’t been involved a few times, but never for long because it just never felt like…enough. Now, between the lyrium withdrawal and my past, I’m not certain what I’d have to offer if I did meet someone who interested me. Maybe there’s something wrong with me that I’ve never been in love at my age.”

Cadash smothered a laugh. “Salroka, I’m at least a decade older than you, and _I’ve_ never been in love before.” She sobered, gesturing uncomfortably toward the main keep. “I still don’t know if I am now, but whatever it is, it’s sodding uncomfortable and wonderful all at the same time. Just don’t tell Adan that or I won’t hear the end of it.”

The ex-Templar seemed to relax a little. “I have to admit it’s taken some getting used to, the way you talk to each other at the same time you seem to care so much…”

“Friendly insults are honest, Commander. Flattery and compliments are so often lies and make me want to watch for a knife at my back and betrayals. That was what I liked about Adan first, you know, the way he traded insults with me like I was just another person wandering in his door.” Zheevá held up the piece of wood she was carving to examine it more closely. “Not that I expected it to mean much; trust isn’t a lesson you learn in the Carta.”

He watched her carve for a while in silence before curiosity got the better of him. “You always talk about the Carta as if you hated it, but you stayed with them for most of your life?”

“Ah.” She bit her lip, concentrating on the carving more intently. “That. Commander, I didn’t join the Carta, I was taken, almost thirty years ago. If you really want to know, I’ll tell you the story some night when we’re both at least half drunk. The Carta grabs a lot of people, especially if they think they can be useful.”

“Useful? You can’t have been more than a child.” He shifted forward a little in his chair, lowering his hands to rest on the arms.

She laughed bitterly. “You think children aren’t useful? And I was sodding useful.” Cadash grimaced and lowered the knife and half-finished carving into her lap. “Which brings me to why Adan kicked me out of bed to talk to you. Commander, you do know raw lyrium ore has to be processed, and the process that produces the best lyrium is Orzammar’s most closely guarded secret, right?”

“Of course. I wondered how the Carta managed to get so much processed lyrium to smuggle to the surface when I began stumbling on them in Kirkwall.” The dwarf folded her arms around herself, watching him warily.

“They do steal some of the processed ore, but a lot of it came to the surface as raw ore because maybe the Carta has someone who can process it. Or did.” She waited for the words to sink in, braced for the sharp, penetrating stare. “I’d say there might be more than one person; the Carta isn’t any more unified than Dalish clans, and a lot more likely to be in conflict. But _if_ there was, say, a person in one of the Carta families who’d learned to process lyrium as a child, how safe do you think that person would be if Orzammar or the surface merchant’s guild or the Chantry knew who she was?”

Zheevá watched as several emotions flashed across Cullen’s face, her hand tightening nervously on the hilt of the whittling knife when he looked angry for a few moments before he sighed, hands finally relaxing on the arms of his chair. “Maker. I can’t imagine the rulers of Orzammar would be happy, but I’m very much afraid I know exactly how the Chantry would react.” He studied her with an expression between irritation and sympathy. “And the Carta would be one of the few groups who could provide some protection?”

She shrugged, her hand relaxing on the knife finally. “Unfortunately, yes. The alternative is assassination or execution or torture.” Cadash began carving again, not meeting his eyes. “Fortunately, neither Orzammar or the Chantry seem to have learned of this hypothetical person, and the other Carta families have given up on kidnapping, though that may have something to do with not being able to hire anyone to try it anymore. Well, and the retaliations when the kidnapping fails and someone ends up dead.” She bit her lip, eyes fixed on the bird emerging from the piece of wood in her hands. “It’s a brutal, ugly life, Commander, but sometimes the alternatives are worse.”

“And now? His voice was quiet but there was a hint of steel and fire underneath as the ex-Templar obviously struggled with her revelation.

“Well, I’d imagine such a person would be quite happy to find a way out. Maybe this hypothetical person never really understood just what lyrium did to humans and would be glad of a chance to undo some of it. Of course, I can’t guess what will happen in the future because the Carta isn’t going to give up on that person easily either.” Cadash held up the carving of an eagle, now clearly poised with wings swept back, talons spread as if to strike, and eyed it critically. “Mostly, I’d think she’d just take each day and squeeze every bit of living out of it she could.”

Cullen slowly nodded, then just a hint of a wry smile seemed to ease the last of her wariness. He watched her putting the finishing touches on the tiny carving, green-wrapped head bent over her work intently. “Especially with a certain alchemist in your life?”

“The one lazing about in my warm bed without me, the rock licker?” The dwarf seemed satisfied with the carving finally and tucked away the little carving knife. “If it wasn’t my bed, I’d be tempted to wake him back up with a bucket of snow melt.” She levered herself off the crate, landing lightly on her feet with that agility that was always so unexpected. “Speaking of that crotchety old bear, I’d better make sure he doesn’t miss breakfast.” Cadash seemed almost embarrassed, waving at Cullen as she passed his desk, briskly heading out the door to the rotunda.

Cullen folded his arms on his chest unmoving for several minutes, digesting everything that had been said before finally shifting himself forward and reaching for the reports on the far side of the desk. He halted, staring at the delicate stooping eagle sitting on top of the stack of reports before very tentatively picking it up to examine. It wasn’t very detailed or polished, but he felt an almost electric response to the organic, breathing fierceness she had captured in the bit of wood as he turned it over and over in his hands. Finally, he stood to place it very carefully on one of his shelves, a lop-sided smile on his face as he finally picked up the first report.

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	17. Quandry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning for Adamant, and Cadash loses an argument

 

* * *

**Part 28**

* * *

Adan tucked the end of the green wrap in, then stroked the fabric covering Zheevá’s head affectionately. “So, did you wear this rag at Halam’shiral, or did they try to make you behave like a noble?” He snorted at the very idea. “I’d have paid gold to have been there to see that. I can just see you trying to swing from a chandelier.”

“Ha, you old rock licker, I can behave when I have to or did you think I climbed a trellis in one of the gardens onto a balcony to go exploring or broke into the servants’ quarters following a lead?” Her tone was contrived innocence as she grabbed his beard, pulling him closer for a quick kiss. “But no, Josephine wouldn’t let me wear this, or even something that matched the uniforms. I felt naked.”

Adan pulled back from the kiss, his expression disbelieving. “Wait, you did, didn’t you, you bit of mischief? Climbed a trellis and broke into the servants’ quarters? Maker’s balls, I assume you had a good reason for that?”

“Of course I did, and even better reasons for breaking into the royal wing, arse.” She grinned back at him cockily. “Did I mention we found one of Gaspard’s officers naked and tied spread eagle to Celene’s bed? I rather thought that was the highlight of the evening.”

The alchemist snorted, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her closer. “I bet it was, but I admit I kind of hope you don’t feel the need to go eying anyone else now.”

“Oh, I’ll always _look_ , especially when it’s something like that.” She buried her face in his neck, letting go of his beard to nuzzle it instead, and chuckling. “But there’s only one person I care about seeing, and definitely only one I care about touching if that’s what’s worrying you, old bear.”

The alchemist didn’t say a word, but his arms tightened fiercely around the dwarf, and she hid her grin against his neck. Finally after a minute or two, he released her a little self-consciously. “So, how long do I have you this time, minx?” He began fastening his robe, watching in amusement as she concealed her knives and other tools with absent-minded ease.

“Dunno.” She sighed tiredly. “The Western Approach was a dreadful place, and finding out what the Wardens were up to was even worse. Almost a month there and back, but going after Adamant is pretty urgent now, so if Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana have everything lined up, I may not even get the four nights here I had after Halam’shiral.” Cadash adjusted the last bit of weaponry, then reached up to caress his face lightly. “I had a lot of time to miss you, old bear.”

“It was too sodding quiet without you.” The alchemist grumbled, finally standing up from the bed. “Until you started sending letters through Sister Leliana, I…” He stopped, seemingly unwilling to continue, glancing away.

“What? Adan, look at me.” He reluctantly met her eyes. “What were you worried about?”

“I wondered if you’d regret…once you were gone, I mean.”

“Arse.” She jumped lightly up to stand on the bed, resting her hands on his shoulders. “There’s nothing in my life that I regret _less_. Sodding ancestors, I _slept_ next to you, Adan, and if that doesn’t say something from a Carta thug, nothing does.”

“Next to me, on me, across me, you’re a restless sleeper, salroka.” He relaxed, biting the tip of her nose gently.

“And you steal the blankets, rock licker.” She ran her fingers through his beard with one hand, face thoughtful. “I _may_ have spent most of the long ride there and back thinking about you waiting for me in a tub of hot water with a bottle of perry and oils that smelt of orange blossom and cloves.” Cadash giggled suddenly. “Dorian _may_ have caught me at it a couple of times, but he mostly settled for refined snickering. I won't describe what Sera and Iron Bull had to say, though." She nibbled his lower lip softly. "Now, give me a real kiss; I'm barely going to get breakfast before the first planning meeting this morning."

"They can wait. It's not like they can plan it without you." She giggled and captured his mouth in a very long, slow kiss. "Minx. Keep that up and I may kidnap you for lunch up here today."

"And what would be on the menu?" Laughing, she jumped down and headed for the stairs before he could answer.

* * *

 

Cullen indicated several counters that marked trebuchets and battering rams. “We have siege engines, but if those aren’t enough to breach their walls quickly, we may need something more. Adan’s says he has a recipe for something strong enough to bring a section of wall down if we need it.”

Cadash nodded and pointed to several places on the plans of Adamant. “Yes, he told me what he was working on. If we need it, I think if I plant it here and here, it’ll bring down a substantial portion of the walls and we can get enough of our army in at once that they can’t just pick us off.”

“You?” Cullen straightened, gazing at her in surprise.

“Of course, me. The flasks he’s worked out are incredibly sensitive and setting them off without getting caught in the blast takes precise timing. This isn’t something you can trust to a half-trained apothecary or something, so who else is going to handle it?” She straightened to stare at her commander, and abruptly saw the answer in his eyes. “No. Absolutely not.”

Josephine frowned at her adamant rejection. “If there is someone else, of course we should call on them. I don’t understand.” Cullen and Cadash held their locked gaze, hers almost pleading with him for some other answer.

“Inquisitor, you _have_ to lead the assault on Adamant; if you stay back to handle sapping the walls, we’ll lose. If nothing else, we _know_ there are rifts there and you’re the only one who can deal with them. And as you said, the person setting them must be an expert. He’s the only one.”

“He didn’t sign up for that, he’s not a combatant!” Green eyes held amber brown ones desperately, but he continued softly.

“Adan suggested it himself, he said if our information was wrong, he was the only one who can recalculate how much is needed safely.” Cullen saw defeat in her eyes then, and she sagged. His next words were much softer. “I _am_ sorry, I suggested the tranquil mage, Clemence, but he says he hasn’t been involved in work on this, and Adan’s not certain Clemence could adapt quickly enough even if he had.”

“Inquisitor? I’m not certain I understand the problem, especially since it would mean you wouldn’t be separated from …” The dwarven woman turned furiously on Leliana, stunning them all with her transformation.

“Sod it, do you really think I would risk a hair in his beard just because I didn’t want a cold bed?” Her glare was furious, her fists clenched until her knuckles turned alabaster white. “I have done every sodding thing the Inquisition has asked, risked myself over and over. What have I _ever_ done to make you think I’d risk any non-combatant, especially him? Maker’s balls, what have I done to make anyone think I’m that self-centered?”

“She didn’t mean…” Josephine started to defend Leliana uncertainly, abruptly aware that the dwarf’s genial, humorous manner truly masked a lifetime in the Carta and a potential for rage that the ambassador had never suspected, but the woman was already bringing herself under control.

“I know.” Cadash closed her eyes, her head bent. “I…admit, there is no choice. Adan goes.” Slowly she forced her hands to unclench, but her head remained bent, and when she finally spoke again, her voice was uncharacteristically quiet and dull. “Just remember, he doesn’t even know how to defend himself, and I won’t be able to …” Her voice caught and faltered, then she picked up her mug and walked over to one of the windows to drink the entire thing down at once before levering herself up onto the window ledge to sit, staring out into the gardens.

The advisors exchanged glances, then Cullen gestured for Josephine, Leliana, and Morrigan, who had observed it all in silence, to leave. When they were gone, he cleared his throat uncertainly.

“I _am_ sorry, Cadash. I did try to think of an alternative because I guessed how you’d feel.”

“I know.” Her voice was tired, defeated. “He probably did too, which is why he left it to you to convince me.”

“I swear to you, I’ll do everything I can to keep him safe, even if it means putting guards on him with orders to tie him up and confine him to his tent if he starts taking risks.”

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Commander. That…helps a little. If anything happens to him…”

“I know.” He hesitated for a moment. “You know, one of my biggest regrets has been not saying things when I had the chance to people. If there’s anything you think you should say to him before we go…”

Zheevá glanced at him briefly, then nodded, fixing her eyes on the empty mug cradled in her hands. “I’ll remember that. Thank you, Commander.”

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	18. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation and the assault on Adamant

* * *

**Part 29**

* * *

Adan slowly was drifting into consciousness until he realized the warmth that should be next to him was missing. Abruptly the alchemist sat straight up, blankets sliding off to expose his chest to the cold, pre-dawn breeze blowing off the mountains and through the open balcony door directly ahead of him. Sighing, he reached for a thick robe, pulling it on before slipping the rest of the way out of bed, thoughtfully pulling the blankets up to preserve the heat.

Zheevá was standing on a stone bench, leaning on the balustrade, and staring off into the night, but her head turned just enough that he was certain she knew he was studying her through the doorway. Not that he had any illusions of anyone sneaking up on her successfully, much less him. “You should get your sleep, old bear. We’ll be riding almost from sunup to sundown every day for the next two weeks, and you’ll be missing that bed within a day or two.”

“What, do you think I’m some soft noble now?” He snorted, coming up behind her and resting his hands on her muscled waist just where it began to curve out toward generous hips. “I’ve made my share of trips and slept on the ground too many nights. Though never…” his beard tickled the back of her neck as he pressed a light kiss on the crown of her head, “with a beautiful woman to help keep me warm before.”

“Better make sure you’ve got something packed for saddlesores, unless you’ve done a damned sight more riding than I think you have, rock licker.” She was stiff at first, but slowly relaxed against him, and he quickly opened his robe to wrap her in his arms when he noticed just how cold her skin was, almost shivering himself as he closed the robe snugly around them both.

“Already thought of that. Maker’s breath, how long have you been out here? And why didn’t you wrap up in a blanket or something, arse?”

“I didn’t really notice.” He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply.

“You haven’t said a word about whether you want me to go to Adamant or not, you know.”

“That’s not really my decision, is it, old bear?” Her voice was subdued. “Cullen made a good argument that you were needed, and if you’re willing, it’s your choice to make.”

“Minx, that’s not an answer.”

“Isn’t it?” She tilted her head back to brush her lips across his cheek. “You don’t try to convince _me_ that I shouldn’t do my job as the Inquisitor and I know the risks I have to take worry _you_ even though you know I’ll always come back; you should be able to expect the same from me, however much it scares me.”

“Scared? You?” His arms tightened even as his words were teasing.

“Arse.” Zheevá turned abruptly, her arms suddenly tight around his bare waist as she buried her face in his beard. “Everyone’s afraid, even Cory. Fighting, that’s what I know how to do, and you don’t survive at it as long as I have unless you’ve learned to use your fears as a weapon to keep you sharp in a fight. I may not know much else, but I know fighting. You, though…” her body was stiff against his, and Adan softly kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of orange and cloves, “this isn’t going to be a small fight, it’s going to be a fucking assault on a fortress defended by some of the best warriors in Thedas, backed by _demons_ ; I’m not sure even Cullen really knows what we’re getting into except in theory. Though thank the Maker he seems to know the theory quite thoroughly. And I can’t be with you.”

The alchemist hid his grin at her reluctant admission in her short blonde hair. “I’ll be damned, you’re wishing you could guard me yourself! You’re a fraud, you know. Trying to make everyone think you’re a hardened carta thug, when you really want to be a bloody hero. _My_ hero.”

She bit his earlobe just hard enough that he winced away. “Rock licker. They don’t write stories and songs about casteless ex-smugglers and thugs who drink hard, cuss too much, start brawls, and think a good argument is the best kind of flirting. Oh, and I stab people in the back, you know. Literally. Not exactly hero material.”

“You left out the part about belching.” One hand held his robe snugly around them while the other began to caress her back suggestively, noticing that her skin was finally losing the chill.

“I don’t do that in public. Mostly.” One of her hands moved to his hips, caressing him in return.

“Mmm, and you have other hidden talents I’d just as soon not share with the rest of the world.”

“You may be sharing more hints than you planned, or haven’t you ever shared a tent in a crowded camp?” Her head lifted and he could see a more relaxed grin on her face as her hand moved from his hip forward to make him gasp. “It isn’t just sodding noise, either; a light inside or even on the other side of a thin canvas tent will turn our evenings into a shadow puppet show. Unless you plan to forego some of those talents for over a month?”

“Not if I damn well have anything to do with it. Besides, it’ll be a camp full of soldiers, not a gaggle of chantry brothers and sisters.” He bit down gently on her neck just below her ear, grinning as he felt her hips rock forward into him. “With soldiers, give ‘em that sort of sodding good gossip and you’re more one of them instead of the muckety-mucks.”

“Mmm, I like that idea. Just remind me to have Cullen put the Templar and chevalier forces on the far side of camp from our tent. Including Cullen.”

Adan let go of her earlobe to stare at her skeptically. “Why are you worried about where _he_ is set up at?”

“Because he’s _lonely_ , you ass.” She shrugged. “Somehow I don’t think overhearing us would help that. Maybe I can suggest the Templars and Orlesian mucketies would put a damper on the common soldiers’ drinking and singing, and having the Inquisition’s military commander camp with them would be seen as a compliment.”

Adan suddenly tightened his hands around her hips, lifting her off the bench as his robe fell away from her. “Work that shit out later. Right now, there’s a very comfortable, warm bed that we’re going to be missing for the next month or so,” Zheevá wrapped arms and legs around him, chuckling throatily into his beard as he turned and started toward the balcony door, then he added, “my lady hero.”

“Arse.”

* * *

  **Part 30**

* * *

Adan scowled fiercely at the pair of soldiers flanking his camp stool, his arms crossed. “What do you mean I’m not supposed to leave camp without the Commander’s orders? Whose fucking idea was that, am I a damned prisoner now?”

“No sir.” The heavily armed woman struggled to keep her lips under control. “But this is a military camp and you’re under military discipline during the assault. Our orders from Commander Cullen are ‘the alchemist is a non-combatant. If he tries to get near the assault without orders, tie him up and confine him to his tent.’”

“Sodding mother hens. I don’t suppose I could convince you two to get distracted by the combat or something.

The man on his other side didn’t even tried to conceal his snort. “Sir, they got the gate down with the battering ram, so you aren’t needed, and you know it. If you get out of camp, the Commander will have our hides. Then hand us over to the Lady Inquisitor for dereliction of duty. No thanks, I don’t want her to feed us to the next batch of demons that pop up.”

The alchemist grumbled testily. “Better not let _her_ hear you call her a lady.” The woman coughed suddenly, covering her mouth for a moment before scanning the perimeters of the camp. A few squads, including a couple of Templars and mages in case a demon got this far, had been held in reserve here with orders to guard the camp and the small number of non-combatants, though only Adan had been assigned personal guards. His presence on the trip had clearly provided a source of good-natured if bawdy gossip that had given the common soldiers something to think about other than the upcoming battle, though he’d personally seen little enough of Cadash during the day when she was generally intent on business. And while they’d made an attempt to be somewhat discrete at night, he’d caught enough knowing smirks each morning to make it clear that the canvas walls were indeed thin. He was old enough to take it rather philosophically—after all, most common housing had walls so thin that there were few secrets in the poorer sections of villages—and he would have put up with a lot more than a few smirks if he could distract Cadash from her worry about this trip so she’d relax and sleep. Though if the smirks hadn’t also been approving…

Abruptly he heard a young male voice from a few feet away, slightly dreamy and disconnected. “A little girl. _Father, dead? Brother, sister, why are you letting them take me? Maker, Andraste, Ancestors, Stone, someone. I cannot let them see I’m afraid or they will be like deepstalkers circling a nug for the kill_.” His voice changed slightly. “She says jokes and insults are like stone to hide behind, I didn’t understand how that could be at first.”

The soldiers jerked upright, then seemed to look through Cole. Adan eyed him uncomfortably; it was the first time the young man had spoken to him directly, though he knew he had no clear memory of him until they’d been at Skyhold for a couple of months and Zheevá helped him learn to remember seeing and hearing him. “D’you think Cadash would be happy to know you were saying that in front of _them_?”

“They won’t remember me. You will. She asked me to watch for you today, _keep him safe because I can’t be there, Cole_. You scare her, you know.”

“Me?”

“ _Fire in his words, his lips, his hands, warming me, cracking the stone around my heart. No, he can’t say those words, they said they loved me and it was a lie. Insults are better, easier, safer, they can’t really hurt_.” He raised his head so the hat no longer concealed his pale eyes. “She’s brighter when she thinks of you, then it scares her.”

Adan met his rather ethereal gaze thoughtfully. She’d never really said more about her family using her to pay off a debt to the Carta than that one conversation, but her reaction to any words about love were still a mix of wariness and hope that she quickly covered with jokes. He was about to ask something more when they heard a thunderous sound between a shriek and a roar followed by the rush of huge wings. They all stared up over the fortress to see a huge dragon diving down toward the fortress, a ball of strange flame shooting downward at something deep within the fortress.

“Maker’s breath, is that…?” The guards both stared, frozen in shock, and the other soldiers hurriedly gathered in tight knots, seemingly preparing to defend themselves if monster changed targets.

“His. His dragon is here, but I cannot feel him.”

The stream of blisteringly creative curses from the alchemist as he leapt to his feet broke the shocked trance of the two guards who grabbed him presciently before he could charge off toward the fortress. “Sir! You can’t do anything against an archdemon. And whatever’s going on would be over before you can reach them. Reach _her._ ” He briefly tried to pull free, then sagged.

“Cole, can you hear her?”

“Yes. I…her anger, hot, scalding, like the dragon’s fire, but…laughter, angry laughter? _This shit doesn’t happen even in Varric’s tales, why me_?”

Silence for a few minutes as the other soldiers organized themselves in defensive formations with tower shields ready, watching as the dragon continued to appear and disappear, engaged in some assault. Then suddenly, Cole straightened, staring toward the fortress. “ _Falling, oh Maker, not like this! Cole, please, take care of…_ ”

His voice broke off abruptly. Adan’s face turned white as a sheet and he sank limply back down onto the stool, staring at the pale young man. Cole rotated in a circle slowly, frowning. “I can’t hear her or the others. They’re…gone?”

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

So, the reveals in Descent probably toss part of “To Dream of Secrets” out the window, but for the time being, I’m going to leave it as is. That’s always a risk in writing about something that hasn’t yet been explained…

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


	19. Sorrow and Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings...

* * *

 

A story for lovers of dwarves and irascible older men.

Disclaimer: As usual, Adan and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zheevá is mine (pronounced zhee VA'). Some spoilers. Conversational spoilers. Some profanity. Romance.

* * *

**Part 31**

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The alchemist remained sitting on the stool, absolutely still with his face buried in his hands as the guards watched him. Disbelief and grief was visible on their own faces, clearly remembering the meaning of Cole’s words even if they didn’t really remember who said them. Cole remained standing, clearly continuing to try to “hear” his friends, then his eyes fixed on Adan sadly. “ _Maker, no, she can’t be gone. You ask too much, how much more did you want from her? I forgot how to care then there she was…arse, rock licker, old bear. Maker, please, don’t let it be true, I need her._ ”

Cullen stepped through the milling troops, followed closely by a squad, stopping when he saw the alchemist with his head bent as Cole spoke his last few words. Then Adan seemed to hear the movement, raised his head and leapt to his feet when he caught sight of Cullen, fury and grief blazing as he pointed a finger at the Inquisition’s commander.

“You! Bastard, you gave the orders that bloody well kept me trapped here, and now she’s gone! You and everyone else, demanding more and more of her and now…” he broke off, unable to continue, hands clenched until his knuckles were white.

“I gave her my word you’d be kept safe, Adan.”

“I should have sodding known.” The dark-haired alchemist closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing in a quiet, pain-filled voice. “I want to see her body.”

“There is no body.”

“What!”

“A piece of bridge gave way while they were fighting Corypheus’s dragon. The Inquisitor, Lady Cassandra, Blackwall, Dorian, Stroud, and Hawke all fell. Several people saw the bridge crumble under them, then there was a flash of green light. But no bodies.”

“How long will it take to clear the rubble?” Adan’s voice was dull and his eyes didn’t seem focused on anything.

“The rubble was under them as they fell, the bodies should have been on top of the rubble. We couldn’t find any trace of any of them.” Cullen spoke evenly, clearly torn between grief and hope himself.

Adan gaped then whirled toward Cole to find he was no longer standing where he’d been. “Shit. Of all the times for him to take a stroll.”

Suddenly there was a stir in the crowd that had gathered around Cullen and the alchemist.

“Move your arses out of the way!” The familiar voice froze the entire crowd into silence, then several of the soldiers moved abruptly to the side as a small figure shoved them out of her way. Adan stared in disbelief at Zheevá, who stopped, hands resting cockily on her hips, apparently and nonchalantly unconscious of the blood and filth clinging to her armor as she smirked at the alchemist. Cullen watched emotions flash across his face rapidly as the silent crowd watched on, then Adan matched her stance, fists resting on his hips and glaring.

“You’re back! And in one piece.”

Zheevá grinned cockily and took a step closer. “What, and miss hearing you call me an arse, you cranky old codger?”

“Arse.”

“Rocklicker.” The tension in the crowd began to relax and more than a few soldiers clearly were fighting grins at the comforting familiarity of the pair’s insults as they slow moved toward each other.

“Minx.”

“Crotchety old bear.” By this point they were standing almost toe-to-toe, the alchemist glaring down and the Inquisitor grinning back up cockily as Blackwall and Dorian stopped even trying to smother laughs, even if those laughs might have had more than a whiff of hysterical and profound relief to them. Then abruptly Adan dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around Zheevá, blood and all, to bury his face in her neck.

“Maker, I thought you were gone, you damned idiot, you’d better not ever do that to me again!” The dwarf wrapped her arms just as tightly around him, her eyes closing for a moment before unerringly meeting Cullen’s, naked relief and gratitude in her eyes. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded, and, embarrassed, she buried her face in Adan’s neck.

“Arse. Even a little stroll in the Fade isn’t going to keep me from coming back to you. Who else is going to nursemaid me?”

“I am _not_ a nursemaid!” Adan pulled back enough to see her face as he bellowed at her, then his mouth was covering hers before she could respond in a long, hard kiss to cheers and slightly hysterical laughter. Zheevá’s hand came up to tangle in his beard as the kiss extended, then finally he released her. “But for you, maybe I can make an exception. Minx. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

“Just promise to keep welcoming me back like that.” She grinned over her shoulder in the direction of her friends where even Cassandra was covering a grin. “We have a reputation to live up to, you know.”

Adan snorted. “Arse.” Then he buried his face in her neck again, whispering softly, “Dammit, woman, I love you, even if you do try to be a sodding hero.”

* * *

  **Part 32**

* * *

Zheevá reached her room with a sigh, firmly pushing the door shut on the sounds of continuing celebration from the main hall below. Adan had slipped away almost an hour earlier with a whisper to join him when she could get away, but it felt as if everyone in Skyhold had wanted one last word with her. Not that she entirely blamed them; she was feeling a bit hysterically giddy herself, knowing that Corypheus was finally gone and his threat ended. But other than a brief moment when they managed to duck out of sight for a hurried hug and a peck of a kiss, she’d hardly had time to look in the alchemist’s direction. In the end, Blackwall, Sera, and Dorian had started a bawdy, loud, drunken song that attracted the laughter and attention of the hall, allowing her to finally slip away, though she’d caught Sera and Dorian smirking at her as when she reached the door and glanced back.

Wearily, she trudged up the steps to find Adan sitting on the couch, a bottle and plate on the table between it and the fireplace, and thick wool blankets and furs piled next to him. The dwarf raised an eyebrow as she approached, a slow grin spreading. “Hmm, looks like you’ve been making plans.”

“Thought you might want to celebrate a little more in private. Some perry to wash out the taste of those odd cakes the ambassador brought in and some real, plain food.”

“As long as it isn’t pickled eggs.” He barked a laugh as her eyes challenged him. “And an old Fereldan bear to keep me warm?”

He grinned back as she levered herself onto the couch, straddling his lap before grabbing one of the heavy furs to wrap around both of them. “Well, I could go on to bed without you, but it’d be a lot warmer with you in there with me.”

Zheevá leaned in to kiss him lightly on the cheek, hand tangled in his beard. “I need you here to keep me warm. Bed can wait a little longer.”

Adan chuckled, then slid practiced fingers under the head wrap and flipped it onto the floor. “Time to be rid of that rag, then.” He pulled her forward so her head rested on his shoulder, fingers running through the short blonde curls, stroking her hair with one hand as he held her with the other arm. They rested like that for several minutes in complete contentment, only the crackling of the fire and the faint sounds of celebration breaking the silence. Finally he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “So, um, now what? Corypheus is dead.”

“I might have noticed.”

“Arse” She sat back a little so her green eyes met his thoughtful brown ones. “I meant, what are you going to do now?” He hesitated, then plunged on, “Are you staying or going or, well, if you are, what happens with us?”

“Us?” She seemed surprised by the question, and he sighed.

“Zheevá, I love you, you know that, I just want to know if we’ll be together. I suppose if you want to…to go back to the Carta, it would be hard for me to…”

The dwarf began laughing, but it was a delighted sound as she pulled him closer to kiss the tip of his nose. “Old bear, what did I tell you at Adamant? Not even a walk in the Fade would keep me from coming back to you. Didn’t I tell you what Nightmare taunted me with in the Fade?”

“No?” His hand cupped her cheek, puzzled relief in his face. “What?”

Suddenly it was her turn to be uncomfortable, staring down at his chest and he could feel how tensed up she was. “That I would die in the Fade and you’d never know how I felt. That I…I love you, you crotchety old bear.” Reluctantly, almost embarrassedly, she raised her eyes to meet his. His fingers traced one of the scars on her face, a slow, genuine smile spread across his face as his fingers brushed across her lips, then he pulled her into a gentle hug and let silence be his answer.

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

I hope you enjoyed the ending, and I apologize for the delay (a combination of real life, waiting for Trespasser, and a debate on how to handle a couple of things.) I have an epilogue planned, but won’t be published until my other story, Saying Goodbye, is mostly finished.

Dear friends of mine are the inspiration for the flavor of Zheevá and Adan's relationship, a couple whose relationship took me years to begin to understand and appreciate.


End file.
